Chuck vs The Australian Army - Reloaded
by Doc in Oz
Summary: A retooling of my first multi chapter fic. Team Bartowski are sent on a mission to Afghanistan and beyond.
1. Prolog and Notes

Chuck Vs. The Australian Army - Reloaded

Team Bartowski are sent on a mission to Afghanistan and beyond. Content warning: This fiction contains mild coarse language (by Australian standards).

 **(Original 2010) Author's Note:**

Loosely based on my experiences with the Australian Army Reserve during the military exercise Kangaroo 89 (and some of the build-up exercises). My nickname was Doc (still is to some).

As I have written the initial scenes based on personal experience, there is little plot. There will be some sort of plot later. I hope.

Originally, I began this story twenty years ago as a _Forever War_ homage. I couldn't get it to work. Then Chuck came along, and you guys. I apologize in advance for my ego keeping my character in the story, but it was the only way I could get some of the quotes and references to fly. That is my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

I have no idea if this is even any good. I hope you like bits of it.

This story is set early half season 2.

I don't own Chuck et al.

 **Sep 2016 Author's note:**

This is a retooling of Chuck vs The Australian Army.

When I wrote this fiction, it was my second fiction and ambitiously for me, my first multi chapter story. September 2010 was a heady time. We were just about to begin season 4 of Chuck, and surely things could only get better. There was no more Shaw, our spies were together, Hopefully that would be the end of stupid plot lines and it was only a matter of time before there was a wedding.

Sigh.

Anyhoo, _Nomadic Nerd_ recently reviewed this, and as a consequence, I re-read it for probably the first time in three or four years. I knew it would be a bit cringe worthy as, to begin with, I had written a 'Mary-Sue,' an OC based on myself, one that then goes on to save the day, has improbable skills (i.e. is a spy, and/or knows Kung Fu) and has lots of sex. So I decided to edit the story and rename my namesake to something less obviously a Mary-Sue.

The other reason for a re-tooling of this is; since I wrote this my writing style has, I'd like to think, improved. Or I have simply started using more words.

Also, I mentioned The Forever War, earlier. It is a now old book written by Joe Haldeman. I do suggest you read it.

-o0o-

Army notes, Abbreviations

And

Dramatis personae

Military abbreviations:

BN – Battalion

COY – Company

PL – Platoon

SEC – Section

Each battalion is usually made up of three companies, numbered A to C

Each company is usually made up of three platoons, numbered 1 to 9. Thus, 7 platoon is the first platoon in Charlie company.

Each platoon is usually made up of three sections, each usually made up of ten men.

CP – Command post

OP – Observation post

O-Group – Orders group

CO – Commanding Officer

2IC – Second in command

Ranking and symbols

Commissioned Officers:

COL – Colonel – Indicated by a crown and two 'pips' worn on the shoulder.

LCOL – Lieutenant colonel (sometimes called half colonel), addressed as Colonel – Indicated by a crown and a single pip.

MAJ – Major – Indicated by a crown.

CAP – Captain – Indicated by three pips.

LT – Lieutenant (Note – Australia uses the British pronunciation, _lef-ten-ant_ ) – Indicated by two pips.

Other Ranks:

CSM – Company Sergeant Major – Usually WO2 – Warrant Officer class 2 – Indicated by a crown patch on the upper arm.

SGT – Sergeant – Indicated by three stripes.

CPL – Corporal – Indicated by two stripes.

LCPL – Lance Corporal, spoken as Corporal – Indicated by a single stripe.

SIG – Signaller - Indicated by having a meter of battle-whip antenna sticking out of his pack.

PVT – Private

8 Brigade Command and Structure:

BN CO LCOL A. Birch

BN 2IC MAJ L. Wiley

C COY CO MAJ N. Chang

C 2IC CAP G. Cook

CSM WO2 M. 'John Boy' Walton

7 PL CO LT David Moore

PL 2IC SGT Brian Newman

SIG PTE Frank Wang

Structure Sec1:

Commander CPL Carl 'Neil' Armstrong

2IC LCPL Nick Fraser

1st Scout PTE Steve Callahan

2nd Scout

Gun PTE Gabe 'Beardy' Beard

2Gun Luke 'Wong Nut' Wu

1st Rifle Tim 'Wog boy' Gomez

2nd Rifle Lindsay 'Lauren' Bacall

3rd Rifle Tony 'Robin Hood' Sherwood

4th Rifle

Structure Sec2:

Commander CPL Sam '2' Morrow

2IC LCPL Nazibor 'Wrath' Khan

1st Scout PTE Gordon 'Harrison' Ford

2nd Scout PTE Luke 'Julia' Roberts

Gun PTE Todd 'Bud Boy' Jacobson

2Gun Alan 'Stretch' Teller

1st Rifle Alex 'Reedy' Reed

2nd Rifle Tom 'Smokey' Dawson

3rd Rifle Norman 'Norm' Nolan

4th Rifle

Structure Sec3:

Commander CPL John 'Dizzy' Goodsir

2IC CPL Kevin 'Kev' Freeman

1st Scout PTE Joseph 'Jamie Lee' Curtis

2nd Scout

Gun PTE Heath 'Cookie' Cook

2Gun Barry 'Baz' Dillon

1st Rifle Jarred 'Nick' Nichols

2nd Rifle Pat 'Lynchie' Lynch

3rd Rifle Justin 'Davie' Warner

4th Rifle


	2. Chapter 1

**Anachronism Warning** : In the opening chapter, I mention a scene from James Cameron's 2009 film _Avatar_. This story is set 2007/2008, but the scene I mention is pretty much what happened to me when sitting in the back of a RAAF Hercules when we landed in Kwajalein and on a different exercise, in Kununurra. The film showed a similar effect and reaction, but with a different consequence.

As of 01 Sep 2016 I don't own Chuck et al.

Chuck Vs. The Australian Army – Reloaded.

A meeting of minds.

It was essentially just a goat track. And it had been for a long time. A rough dirt trail, it must have been at least five thousand years old, as old as the pyramids – more useful, just a lot less grand. It may have even dated back to the end of the last Ice Age, and the beginning of Man's spread across the face of the planet.

The track followed the natural contours of the land, having evolved during that time to find the easiest path to follow. For untold generations, men had moved their animals along this path to find winter grazing, or market. It was only in the last few generations that trucks had begun to be used. Boys and men still moved flocks on foot, but that was starting to become rare.

At first, the trucks were British made Bedfords that had already been ancient when they got here. These were followed by Soviet machines made in factories that had originally made tanks during the Great Patriotic War. Now, American and Japanese trucks were found amongst the mix. Even these looked fifty years old.

Team Bartowski, using the cover name of Carmichael, was in the back of a canvas topped Landrover Defender painted in dull desert camouflage and identified by a coded two color patch that identified the unit. This patch was overlaid by a stencilled kangaroo and boomerang. Dressed in US battle gear, Chuck and Sarah wore Army uniforms, body armor and captain bars. Casey wore his Marine Corps uniform and major's oak leaves. Casey had worn a feral grin when he pulled his uniform from his locker in Castle.

The packs, helmets, armor, ancillary gear and weapons made it an uncomfortable ride for one occupant of the Rover. Chuck hated his gun. He hated having to carry it, hated it for what it represented and most of all, he hated the way the _gorram ruttin'_ thing found every pointy bit of itself and then dug itself into his knees, ankles, or anyplace bony it could find on him to hurt him. The thing hated him back, he was sure. He looked at Casey, and Sarah. They were both sitting in a kind of boneless manner that seemed to swallow up every bump and swerve. Chuck tried to copy them but failed, as was evidenced by his helmet falling off and hitting his knuckles on the way down. He glared at his handlers as he recovered his helmet, _'Show-offs,'_ he thought to himself.

Not that he enjoyed flashing on terrorists, serial killers and any number of unsavory stomach turning subjects, Chuck did enjoy Sarah's smile when he did. One particular flash had now led them to the Afghanistan war zone, a zone Chuck didn't particularly want to be in. Their actual destination was still further afield. He'd told Ellie and the Buy More staff he was off to Fresno for a conference. Chuck was mildly amazed everyone had bought it. Sarah picked him up from home and she drove him at warp speed to Castle to gear up in Army uniforms and equipment. Chuck noted his uniform had a patch with his cover name, Carmichael, stitched into the shirts. Sarah and Casey both had their own names on their uniforms. Casey led them up to the loading dock and into a Humvee Chuck'd never noticed before for the drive out to Edwards Airforce Base.

The trip to the high desert took considerably longer than Chuck expected. Somehow, with all the mentions of it in the news over the years, he'd always thought it was just on the other side of the San Gabriel mountains. It was also a lot more populated than he'd assumed. _The Right Stuff_ and news shots of the shuttle landings had made it look like a barren desolate wasteland.

Well, it was barren, and a long ways from anywhere else. But there was a reasonable sized town, built for all the soldiers and their families Chuck thought. Airmen, he corrected himself. There was even a golf course.

With less time than it should normally take, Chuck found himself, Casey and Sarah standing on the ground behind the biggest airplane he'd ever seen up close.

"A Galaxy," Casey had called it. The tail ramp lowered and they climbed on-board. Aside from the crew, Team Carmichael were the only people the flight carried. The hold was filled with large things under camouflaged cargo nets and a number of other large things with tank tracks, wheels and/or gun barrels. It reminded Chuck strongly of the scene in Avatar, when they rode the shuttle down to the ground. Passengers on-board a Galaxy were evidently an afterthought. Aligned with the length of the plane, there were frame benches made out of an orange seatbelt like materiel woven into a net. Chuck thought that this was a temporary, made-up thing to accommodate just them, and then he saw it came with airline style seat belts. He realized that was how it was supposed to be.

The lift around the world took an age. Chuck never knew if they travelled via Europe/Africa, or over the Pacific and only Casey was invited to the cockpit to watch the mid-air refuelling.

When it came time to sleep, Casey stretched out on top of one of the cargo netted pallets, and promptly began to snore loud enough to be heard over the engines. Sarah and Chuck slept head-to-head, using the webbed seats as best they could. Chuck slept poorly. He thought that even travelling coach would have been better. In fact, as time dragged on, he began to think that steerage on the Titanic would have been a step up in comfort.

The cargo master flight sergeant who'd been the world's ugliest stewardess yelled at them to buckle up, and then the plane began to descent. After a series of what seemed to be pretty steep turns and rapid changes of attitude, the big jet made a surprisingly gentle landing.

When the tail ramp opened, it felt like an oven door had been opened, and Chuck wanted to take his sweater off, but there wasn't time. The air smelled different. There was a kerosene smell of jet fuel, but underlying that, there was a dusty dry smell. Chuck couldn't identify it and it made him uneasy. The light seemed different too, and there was a liquid yellowness to it that reminded him of the Planet Hell scenes in Star Trek. _'I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore,'_ he thought to himself.

Their gear was dumped unceremoniously beside them as they stood near a cluster of obviously temporary buildings, Casey said, "I'm gonna organize our next flight. I'll meet the pair of you in the mess over there," pointing to another prefabricated building in the middle distance.

Chuck had _no_ idea where in the world he was. Afghanistan, he knew that much, but further than that, not a clue. And, it seemed, their little group were about to be going somewhere else he had no idea about.

After what turned out to be a pretty good meal, they were told their new ride was ready. This plane was smaller than the Galaxy, and was propeller driven. "A good ol' Herc," Casey announce in an approving tone. The same sideways mounted woven orange seatbelt seats were waiting for them inside.

After another couple of hours flying, the Good Ol' Herc landed. Again, the tail ramp lowered, letting all the cold air out. As there was a clear line of sight to the opening ramp, Chuck could see the hotter air roiling to the cabin, and Chuck was again reminded of the landing scene in _Avatar_.

A different Army was waiting for them when they got off the plane, and the base itself seemed a lot smaller than the previous one. There was a soldier waiting for them, who enquired, in a slightly yelling voice, "Major Casey?"

Casey nodded, as the engine noise from the plane made talking a little more along the lines of screaming.

"The Colonel is expecting you," she yelled, holding her hand out to indicate the direction before leading him away.

The whole rank thing was difficult to follow. Chuck had watched enough MASH to know a sergeant was lower than a captain, but it still flummoxed him. He stood when Casey and Sarah did. He didn't know what to do with his gun. He tried to copy Casey and Sarah, but he just didn't know, it had never occurred to him to ask Sarah while they were in flight and they really hadn't had alone time since then so he could ask her.

When they were on the American base, Casey, and the officer would salute each other. Chuck assumed from the few salutes he'd observed that the lower rank saluted first. But now, on this base, the Aussies didn't seem to salute _them_. They saluted each other, Chuck had seen that, but not the Americans. They'd stood to attention when talking to Casey, but no salute. Chuck was confused. Maybe you were only supposed to salute people in your own army.

Sarah was well aware that Chuck wasn't comfortable, but there hadn't been a chance to speak since getting off the Galaxy transport. She'd got him to copy what she did. The quicker they got to their destination, the better. Chuck was a dead giveaway. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but that was never going to make up for his not having gone through basic training.

Casey emerged with a soldier, about the same build as himself. "Walker, B…. Carmichael," Casey said when he was within range, "This is their battalion second in command, Major Wiley, he's going to get us as close to…" Casey's eyes swivelled to glare at Chuck for an instant, "… our target as he can. Hat up, we're on the move."

Chuck was pretty sure that major was higher than captain, seeing as how Casey seemed to outrank himself and Sarah.

Major Wiley took them to what Chuck thought of as the motor pool (he had seen _some_ MASH), and it was less of a used car lot than Chuck expected, most everything was truck sized. Another soldier joined them, and the team loaded into the back of the little off road car as it began to drive off.

-o0o-

Corporal John "Dizzy" Goodsir squinted into the glare towards the oncoming dust cloud. The radio call had come through a few minutes prior warning him and his section that they were about to get visitors. Even so, when the sound reached him, he relaxed a little. Not a truck, but a Rover by the sound of it.

Shortly later, an Australian Army Landrover clattered up to the check point and stopped. Goodsir recognized the driver and front passenger. That was the battalion 2IC and his driver. The passengers in the rear wore different uniforms. American he judged.

"G'Day Dizzy, all good?" asked Major Wiley.

"Living the dream sir, livin' the dream. Stone fire."

"Cold stubbie," the Major replied to the password challenge with a grin. "I have some visitors for Mr Moore, can you escort us?"

"Of course sir," Goodsir replied, and turned to call for his own 2IC using field signals, tapping his upper arm with his index finger and then patting the top of his helmet for the 'come here' sign.

Chuck mostly fell out of the Rover. He was grateful just to be standing again, and he nodded to the Australian soldier standing at the check point. This guy was Chuck's height and roughly the same age and maybe a skooch heavier. He wore glasses and was apparently left-handed from the way he held his gun. The Aussie's gun was different from Chuck's and it looked futuristic, like something from a Dr Who episode.

Chuck almost laughed when he saw the Aussie's reaction to Sarah getting gracefully out of the Rover. He knew that look, it was the 'Sarah Walker, slow motion, invisible wind machine' look. Chuck still suffered from it.

Sarah noticed Chuck's wry smile. She smiled to herself, this was the first real expression he'd shown since leaving Burbank. Chuck caught Sarah's smile, and his disappeared with a guilty micro burst, followed by what Chuck thought was a poker face. She made a mental note to find out what happened, but she was glad. Chuck was back. Mostly.

Major Wiley said, "Corporal, this is Major Casey, Captains Walker and Carmichael, you'll be seeing them around for the next few days."

"Sir. Major, Captains, I'm Corporal Goodsir."

Casey made a noise. The grunt might have been interpreted to mean, 'Corporal'

When Cpl Freeman, Goodsir's 2IC, turned up to take over the check point, the group set off to the platoon's command post.

"Top of the ridge, ma-am, sirs" said Goodsir as he lead them along the road past the check point, and then off the trail, and up a rocky hill. Chuck thought that the man's accent wasn't as strong as the examples he knew from TV.

Chuck followed the group up the rocky climb. The two Aussies, Casey and Sarah moved quietly and quickly over the rocks. Chuck couldn't find a safe place to put his feet without at least three loose rocks rolling around. He came perilously close to twisting his ankle frequently. He banged his gun twice against the rocks. He put it back over his shoulder. He knew everyone was looking at him, and it felt like it was the same way Casey _always_ looked at him.

It was only about a one hundred foot climb, but they were all breathing hard as they reached a natural depression that was the reporting point for entry to the command post (CP). Chuck was gasping, and leaning over, hands on his knees. Chuck knew he was nowhere as fit as Sarah and Casey, but _still_ , he should be able to do this. The rest were breathing hard through their noses. Goodsir rather liked the way Sarah wore her sheen of sweat. Both she and Casey were scanning the surroundings. They'd obviously picked the camouflaged CP, Goodsir went over to Chuck and said, "It's the altitude, sir. You'll get used to it, just try not to run a marathon for the next few days, OK?"

"Thanks," Chuck gulped, and flashed the corporal a grin.

Goodsir called the CP on his headset, "Zero three, this is three three. Party of," he paused to double check his count was correct, "five for Sunray."

Chuck heard a buzzing in the corporal's ear which was evidently permission, since he motioned for the group to proceed.

-o0o-

 **A.N.** I've based my visualisation of the terrain on two areas. In 1986, I was part of the Pacific Reserve exercise in Hawaii, in the Pohakuloa Training Area, located in the high saddle between Mauna Loa and Mauna Kea. This gave me the altitude shortness of breath, and the rocks rolling underfoot (how no-one broke an ankle during the ex is a mystery). The general landscape is based on the area surrounding Kununurra in West Australia. Both are stunning areas for different reasons.


	3. Chapter 2

As of 08 Sep 2016, I don't own Chuck et al. I do own a very dog-eared paperback of Walter M. Miller Jr's Hugo award winning ' _A Canticle For Leibowitz_.'

-o0o-

Concerning the care and feeding of Abrahams APCs

Major Wiley introduced the Americans to Goodsir's platoon commander, Lieutenant, which they pronounced _'lef-_ ten-ant,' Moore and his 2IC Sergeant Newman. Goodsir and the two American Captains hung in the back ground, while the two Majors and the Lt talked. Goodsir noticed his fellow section commander, Corporal Carl 'Neil' Armstrong, looking at the group. Goodsir invited Armstrong over with a sideways nod, and introduced him to the two Captains. After a bit, he and Armstrong retreated a bit to discuss the platoon activities from the last few days. It wasn't _really_ gossip.

Goodsir glanced back at the pair of visiting Klingons. He noticed they stood close together, she was saying something to him, and he beamed back at her. Her smile in reply seemed genuine, but God, it was _fast_.

Sergeant Newman came from the officer group a little ways, and called Goodsir and the little group over with the 'come here' field signal, and returned to the group. When Chuck, Sarah, Armstrong and Goodsir got there, Lt Moore said, "Dizzy, I need you to look after our guests for the night, we'll be rotated to another task tomorrow. O-Group at 1600. Neil, send a runner to inform 2-Morrow."

"Yes sir," replied Goodsir and Armstrong simultaneously.

Goodsir lead Major Casey back to the others. "Right-ho, ma-am and sirs," he said, "when you're ready, I'll take you back down to 'SanlyBowitz.'" Armstrong nodded a farewell, and headed back to his section so he could pass the message on to the third section commander, Cpl Sam '2-Morrow' Morrow.

Chuck followed the others. "SanlyBowitz,' he thought to himself. _'I know that from somewhere…._ ' _SanlyBowitz, Saintly…. Saint Le… Saint Liebowitz, ho no.'_ And then realized he'd paraphrased the Abbot from the book. ' _Liebowitz._ **A Canticle For Leibowitz.** _The monastery in a Texas desert, set after a nuclear war. What was the monk's name?'_ Chuck had identified with him _…. 'Francis? Gerard?_ The poor sod saw the world in a million different shades of grey, and his Abbot wanted black-and-white. _Francis, that was it. Francis of…'_

Goodsir noticed Chuck had come to a stop and asked, "Sir?" just at the same time as Sarah began, "Chuck? Are you ….."

"Would that make you Brother Francis of Utah?" Chuck asked the Australian with a wry smile.

A slow smile spread across Goodsir's face, "Hmmm-humm. I didn't realize people still studied the classics. I've been calling it that for three weeks now. You're the only one that's got it."

"Well, I'm more a movie and TV person. Haven't read that since ….. middle school," admitted Chuck after a moment of mental arithmetic. The two were studying each other more seriously now. Sarah had a secret smile. Major Casey's grunt brought them up, and Goodsir resumed the lead. Sarah leant over to Chuck with an obvious question. He just grinned back at her and danced his eyebrows.

Back down at 'SanlyBowitz,' Goodsir helped them take their packs from the Rover. Major Wiley left some jerry cans of water, as well as some twenty four hour ration packs for the visitors, and after exchanging farewells, drove off back to HQ.

"Ma-am, sirs, let's get you somewhere to crash." Goodsir said, as he led them to the section's bivouac which was located on a slightly higher patch, away from the check point.

Goodsir positioned them near the centre of the rough circle of shallow pits. The soldiers of the section were naturally curious, so he took the visitors to the occupied pits.

At the first pit, which contained three shallow trenches, Goodsir said to the two men there, "Cookie, Jamie-Lee, we've got some visiting Klingons," as he indicated the trio of Americans. The two men nodded in acknowledgement of meeting the trio. As they headed over to the next pit, Goodsir explained, "We call him 'Jamie-Lee' 'cause his last name is Curtis."

"Klingons," interrupted Chuck, "you called us Klingons…."

"Yes sir," replied Goodsir with a slight smile, "It's from Star Trek, the one with Jean-Luc Picard. In one of the episodes, the first officer does a student exchange thing on the Kling….."

"….Klingon ship the, ah…. the… _Pagh_."

"…O..kay… That was a tad fanboy obsessive. I'll take your word for it on the name of the ship. But, yeah, so that's where that comes from, it's not official, but everyone does it."

Chuck contemplated the fact that there was an army that knew Star Trek. He rather thought he liked the idea.

After the grand tour, he asked if they'd eaten. The group shook their heads, so Goodsir organised the rations, which he called 'ratpaks,' they'd gotten, as well as his own opened one from his big pack. Using the 'ploink' sounding cheek flick that Chuck remembered from _Ferris Bueller's Day Off,_ Goodsir got his guys to start their own meals. "It's called stand-to," Goodsir explained, "Although this is a fifty percent one. When one of the soldiers in each pit began their meal, the other is still providing protection."

Chuck, in the meantime had made a startling discovery inside his ration pack, "Wow, chocolate."

Goodsir grinned, and thought of keeping the secret to himself, but then he decided that might set Australian U.S. relations back by a few years. "Uh, sir? While the chocolate is nice, it does contain a laxative. Don't eat all of in one sitting."

"You're kidding?"

"No. It's not that fast, just be aware, that all. Hard tack has a ….. clogging tendency after a few days. If it's bad, eat the chocolate." Goodsir then snapped off a section to show it was alright and ate it. He set up the little tin camp stove to boil the water in one of his kidney cups, and saw that Casey and Sarah had already figured it out, and Chuck was following the lead of Goodsir and Sarah. Goodsir noticed that the trio all had the same ration number, 'C,' while his was currently a 'G.' The C ration had an option of chilli con carne or lamb with rosemary, both in tear open bags, rather than the tins Chuck expected. The Americans all opted for the lamb, while Goodsir ate the sausages and vegetables from his.

The burning Hexamine tablet had a slightly clean chemical odour, and the smell of the meals as they were heated mixed with the smell of the fuel, along with the occasional instant coffee or powdered chocolate as the section ate.

Chuck and team Carmichael drank coffee, while most of the Aussies had tea. A baggie of diced fruit (all of them had ended up with diced pears, so there was no trading) and a nut bar rounded out lunch. Goodsir gathered the trash into an empty sand bag used for the purpose, and left it with the gun pit so the rest of the section could do the same.

Goodsir told the trio he needed to return to the check point so the others could have their lunches. Casey nodded, and took some paperwork from his thigh pocket. Chuck looked at Sarah, and then asked if he could follow. Sarah looked at Casey. Casey grunted, and all three got up to follow. Goodsir organized for two of the soldiers to follow him, and changed places with Freeman and the other two diggers.

The day wore on, but for Dizzy and Chuck, the afternoon went by quickly. Since Dizzy had revealed himself as a science fiction fan, they were testing each other on the minutia of their fandom.

There were two trucks during the afternoon, Goodsir and one of the soldiers, nicknamed Davie, checked the goats, or sheep, it was hard to tell the difference, for insurgents before allowing them to pass. Casey and Sarah conferred over his notes. Goodsir noticed that Sarah glanced at Chuck every few minutes or so. And vice versa. It was kinda cute, she would check on him, then he would glance over to her. Neither at the same time. Like a very slow invisible tennis game.

Dizzy and Chuck tested each other over a wide range of science fiction subjects. Each cracking the other up with quotes, and imitations. One of these imitations caused Dizzy to turn serious. Chuck was in the middle of a Full Rimmer Space salute, when Dizzy stopped his hand mid-way. "Sir, you don't want to do that …." Chuck looked hurt, and Sarah whipped around to see what happened.

The corporal continued, "Sir, don't you remember MASH? 'Snipers in the area, sir.'"

"Oh….. oh shit."

"It's okay, we're miles from anyone, and we're pretty safe, but …. Bad habit to get into, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. Sarah, it's alright," he said as she came near, concern in her eyes.

"Uh, Corporal …. Goodsir stopped me making a mistake."

She looked at Goodsir, gave a _very_ quick smile and nodded. Goodsir thought to himself that he got the message, and nodded back. ' _We need to talk,'_ he interpreted. ' _Yes we do_ ,' he thought.

It took a bit, but the moment faded, and they returned to fandom. Dizzy had never been to a convention. Chuck made them sound great. Chuck had a greater depth of TV shows, mainly because of the number of stations available to him. Dizzy was more of a reader. He suggested a number of authors to Chuck. They were brothers of a thinly scattered fraternity.

At 1545, Goodsir took the Klingons, a badge Chuck was now wearing with a quiet honor, back up to the CP again for the o-group. Dizzy was helping Chuck move quieter, and carry his rifle without its sling. Chuck noticed that Sarah was aware of his improvement. He also tried the nose breathing thing when they stopped for clearance. It didn't seem to make a lot of difference.

The orders group, which Chuck overheard the third corporal he hadn't yet met describe as a 'prayer group,' was pretty basic. All three section commanders were there, as well as Lt Moore, Sgt Newman and the platoon signaller.

Lt Moore began the orders by indicating a rough 'mud map' made of twigs, rocks, rope and kidney cups and stating, "The topography is going to be similar to the region we are currently occupying. You will notice this feature here," he pointed at a rectangle made out of twigs and the folded menu from a ratpak, "a bush airstrip. This is our intended target. The situation is, we obviously have visitors. We are to provide cover for them and get them to the target. Major," Lt Moore handed over to Casey.

Casey nodded acknowledgment and took over the presentation, "We've requested, and been given your assistance. We need get to and hold the airfield your lieutenant," Casey pronounced it the American way, "indicated, while we observe and report what we find."

Lt Moore resumed the briefing and covered the execution and logistics of the movement. Cpl Armstrong would stay to man the check point, Cpls Morrow and Goodsir will accompany. Personnel carriers from the Lancers had been organized for part of the transport to _this_ junction, he used his rifle to point to a couple of pieces of green rope, and then a forced march for the remaining 10 kay leg. Relief from Bravo company was to follow in two days, and then all would return to battalion HQ. Frequencies, and passwords for the next few days were confirmed.

Goodsir took Sarah and Chuck back to 'SanlyBowitz,' while Casey stayed behind to use the radio, and then his sat phone.

When they got back, Chuck asked, "Where's the …." he was trying to remember the army word for toilet… Latrine, that was it. "Where's the latrine?"

"You got the date roll?" asked the Aussie.

Chuck's response was a baffled look.

"Date roll? Freckle wrap? Toilet paper," clarified Goodsir, "You know, for your date." The motions he made, made it obvious what and where the date was.

Chuck looked over at Sarah and said seriously, "It's English Jim, but not as we know it."

You could _hear_ Sarah resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

Goodsir made sure he was carrying his riffle, and showed him where the shit pit was, out in front of the gun pits owned by Privates Joseph 'Jamie Lee' Curtis and Justin 'Davie' Warner. When Chuck pointed out that they would be able to see him, Goodsir replied, "That's kinda the idea. You don't want to be caught with your pants down."

When Goodsir got back to the centre pits, he noted Sarah give him a measured smile. Goodsir started first, and asked quietly, "Okay, I buy the Major as military. And without _him_ ," he pointed over his shoulder with a thumb, "I'd buy _you_ in a uniform. But all three together? What do I need to know?"

She paused for a heartbeat, he could feel her measuring him. "Our ranks _are_ real, Chuck is…. a specialist. And well, he is who he is. Thank you for helping him, by the way. He's been scared since he got here."

"No problem. Don't want him to get us… into trouble. Has he fired a weapon?"

She shook her head, "That's why we're here."

"…Mmmkay," Goodsir responded with a sideways twist to his lips.

"Look, please keep doing what you've been doing." She continued in apparent honesty, "he's responded more to you than I've seen before. Seriously, this is the first time I've seen him smile in days."

Goodsir nodded, and Cpt Walker busied herself with sorting out her pack.

When Chuck returned he said, "Wow, that toilet paper….."

Goodsir replied with a knowing grin, "Four sheets of gloriously luxuriant government issue two-ply. Mmmm, shiny."

Later in the afternoon, while it was still light, Goodsir repeated the lunchtime fifty percent stand-to for the evening meal. Chuck whispered his question to Sarah, "Why so early? It's still light."

Casey added himself into the conversation, "It gets dark later, moron. No lights."

"Oh."

The Chilli and freeze dried rice was a whole lot better than Chuck expected. He backed it up with a processed cheese that tasted like the one he recalled from grade school, some of the famous laxative chocolate and some sort of granola bar. He felt rather like he should burp contentedly afterwards.

After, as dusk was noticeably approaching, the section went to a full stand-to, everyone manning their position, and covering their arcs of fire as their eyes adapted to full night. Once full darkness had settled, the stand-to was relaxed back to a fifty percent condition.

The stars dominated the night sky to a degree Chuck had never encountered before. He wondered how the ancient sailors had used the stars for navigation, because there was just so damned many of them. He saw colors in the stars for first time of his life.

Casey broke his contemplation, as whispered angrily, "Christ moron, the whole idea is to be _quiet_."

Chuck looked hurt, but Casey continued, "From now on, when the corporal calls for overwatch, you stay damned still, and you _do not_ make a _single_ noise."

The section settled into their night routine. As the locals didn't drive a lot after dark, the guys staying awake, which Goodsir called a 'piquet,' could cover both the section and the check point. The piquet was set up so that two men were on all the time, to make sure that neither fell asleep, and one would start an hour after the other in a staggered two hour shift.

Casey grunted at Goodsir, and thus volunteered the Klingons into the piquet. Goodsir moved off to confer with his 2IC, Freeman, to work the extra three into the roster. Not that Goodsir didn't trust them, but they factored splitting them up so there was always one Aussie with each Yank. The rest started to sleep.

As section commander, Goodsir traditionally pulled the first and last piquet of the night, giving the section commander an almost unbroken sleep. Goodsir and Casey began the first shift together. Goodsir was a little wary of the large, quiet Marine. Slightly to Goodsir's surprise, Casey broke the silence first. "When I started, my first gun was the M60," Casey indicated the section's machine gun, the Belgian designed Mag 58. "Happiness is a belt fed weapon," sighed Casey.

"We still sort of use those. The Skill At Arms, we get to live fire-and-move with a range of weapons. M16s, the SLR. Even the old Bren, which is a lot more accurate than anything since," responded Goodsir.

"Corporal, you've obviously noticed Carmichael is… we had to rush his training."

"He's a civvie in greens."

Casey grunted an amused noise at that. "Well, I appreciate your looking after him, us too. All going well, we'll be out of your hair in a day or so."

Goodsir nodded into the darkness. The Moon would be rising later. He then asked, "Can we expect many creepy-crawlies when we kick this log?"

Casey smiled a little to himself. He hadn't realised how much he missed being in the field with working soldiers. "Nah, intel says…."

"Fuck."

"… minimal. Sometimes they're right you know."

-o0o-

In the Australian army, a bed, and in particular, the issued sleeping bag is known as a 'farter.' While there is some evidence to suggest the name comes from the British Army dating back to colonial times, most reputable scholars agree that thanks to the issued three-part blow-up sectioned mattress (mattress, pneumatic, sleeping for the use of) that was used from the Vietnam conflict, and up until after the first Gulf War. The name came from the fact that every time you moved, they made a lovely farting sound.

Even during those times, no-one actually used these mattress sections as actual mattresses, it was just simply easier to sleep on a ground sheet. But, the blow-up sections did make useful waterproof compartments for shaving gear, soap and other wet items once you cut them into foot long sections.

When Goodsir had gotten back to his farter, Chuck and Sarah were sleeping. She'd taken her hair out, and was sleeping next to Chuck a little closer than fellow captains should, as she used his chest for a pillow. Goodsir grinned to himself at the sight, and he picked his sleeping bag out of his pack.

There was a metallic ' _click_ ' sound.

Goodsir looked at the source of the metallic click sound, his smile having evaporated.

Sarah was pointing a pistol at Goodsir, and was sitting up, scanning around herself. She recognized the section commander, aimed up and took the weapon back down to DefCon 2. She smiled apologetically at Goodsir, and having made sure Chuck was still sleeping, she lay down, a little further from his side that she had been, and closed her eyes.

' _Wow,'_ Goodsir thought to himself, _'Must not fart too loudly around this pair.'_

-o0o-

Goodsir was woken by Nichols for the pre-dawn piquet. When he got back to the gun pit, Chuck was waiting for him.

"Morning," greeted Chuck in a stage whisper, "apparently we can't have coffee."

"Not yet. The light from the flame," he explained and continued, "Have a powdered juice. Got your cup?"

After a bit, Goodsir asked, "How long have you been w….. I mean, worked with Captain Walker?"

"Year and a bit,"

"So, have you …." asked Goodsir.

After a longish pause, Chuck admitted, "It's ….. complicated."

"And yet the human population on this planet is a tad over seven billion."

"What's a tad?" asked Chuck, pretty sure the other would get the reference.

"In space terms, that's about a half a million miles," Goodsir replied with a grin.

Chuck grinned to himself in the dark, "She's the best thing that's happened to me. I was in a …. low point, and … um. Anyway, she was …. ah, assigned to me. My detail. Casey too. I have a …. I have a knack with scattered data."

"You tell her?"

"Hmm?"

"How you feel. You should. Might be worth the time."

"It's …. complicated." Chuck repeated, "Pretty sure she knows, anyway. I think everyone knows. I'm lousy at poker."

It was Goodsir's turn to grin, "Yeah, well. Thank God women get interested too, otherwise most men would die alone, with the entire boxed Star Trek collection. And some cool tee shirts."

"Don't forget the collector's edition Tron poster." Chuck grinned into the growing dawn.

"O…kay, and again, oddly specific."

Chuck continued, "There are rules …. If we… you know what? I would rather have Sarah yelling at me for not staying in the car, than never have known her. You know? I'd take just five minutes of angry Sarah every day for as long as …. than never.

Goodsir noticed the light, and checked his watch, "Time to wake the rest," He said as he went to start waking the section for the morning stand-to.

After sun up, they went back to the fifty percent stand-to, and after breakfast began weapons cleaning, and hygiene. Chuck was amazed that Goodsir didn't shave using soap, just a dry disposable razor.

Goodsir grinned at him, "Funny thing, I can't shave like this at home, only out here, in the weeds. And the bloody thing lasts longer like this. I can get about two weeks out of this razor here. Back home. and with shaving soap, I'm lucky to get three or four days." Sarah noticed Casey's expression with a wry smile.

Casey asked, "I thought the Aussies relaxed the shaving at times like these?"

"Some units, sir. We're just infantry. Our Colonel likes the Queen's regs; 'every man _will_ shave.'"

At 1030, the rest of the platoon came to the checkpoint.

About 1100, a dust cloud was reported from the hill, and Goodsir went to the checkpoint. Four Armored Personnel Carriers rolled into the check point in a cloud of dust, and noise.

For Goodsir, the funniest point was when the Turret Head in command tried to check the diggers for excess noise from their packs and webbing. Sgt Newman kindly pointed out that _any_ noise his men made was _more_ than covered by 'deafening roar these tin butter-boxes made.' Having only two hooks, he was outranked by the sergeant, and so, exit one frustrated tankie. Dizzy made a mental note to nominate him for a 'Bent Barrel' award, the unit citation for the most public cluster fuck that year.

One of the APCs was a RAEME (Royal Australian Electrical and Mechanical Engineers, pronounce ray-me) carrier. There was absolutely no room in the back for troops. It was armed like the others, but with a small tank turret, and the back was full of spares.

Goodsir lost the Yanks to Platoon HQ in the chalk assignments. He saw Chuck about to request the same APC, and he stopped him with eye contact, and a head shake. Chuck returned the gesture with a nod, and a small shrug.

In the back of the carrier, Goodsir took the offered head-set and sat down. These things we decidedly _not_ comfortable. They were noisy, cramped, dusty and dark. The smell of diesel pervaded everything, reminding Dizzy of his father's tractor. There was no suspension that you could notice. The convoy took off leaving Armstrong's section behind to await replacement.

-o0o-

Goodsir was famous for sleeping in these things. His snoring once was louder that the APC at idle. Sgt Newman was a little proud of this, and made sure the new guys learned this.

The _THUMP_ woke him up. The tankies were cursing in his headset. The APC lurched, lurched and jerked. The APC then stopped _very_ suddenly and at an angle. The Corporal up in the turret was screaming at him, "Think it was a mine! Ambush LEFT. Debus Right!"

Goodsir repeated this to his men as he tore his headset off, and the ramp dropped. Out into the bright of the day and turn right. He dropped as soon as he was level with the middle of the carrier. He tried to move fast. "Instant!" he yelled as he took stock of the situation. The damaged APC wasn't going anywhere. Not today. His section worked their weapons to the 'instant' condition.

The other APCs had pulled off the road, and troops scattered from the back too. The three remaining APC roared off, fanning out. There was a stream of automatic fire coming from a slight rise about two hundred meters away from the road. Most of it aimed at the APCs, tinging, and bonging off the metal. The damaged APC was still dangerous, and was returning fire.

There was zero cover anywhere away from the APCs, it was just a dusty track in a rocky desert. Goodsir saw Casey grab Chuck and pull him to the ground. Both Sarah and Casey were scanning furiously, weapons ready. Sgt Newman called out in a parade ground voice, "Platoon, GO!"

"Go, go go!" yelled Morrow and Goodsir, as the whole body of troops scrambled forwards. "Down!" came the yell from about four voices and the platoon dove belly first to the ground, weapons ready. Lt Moore came over the radio. Morrow, you're with me. Dizzy, left flank."

"Copy," replied Goodsir using the radio, and yelled to his men, "Gun, Go!" as he indicate the direction. All the men of the section yelled, "Gun, go!" also, and the three men of the gun team got up, and ran zigzag about ten feet, and back down again.

"Rifles, go!" cried Dizzy, and the same thing happened with the three men of the rifle team.

"Scouts, go!" he yelled and moved himself with last man to move, Curtis.

Fire-and-movement is a fairly simple process, move each leg of the section, platoon, company or division forward, and keep the momentum going. You repeat each leg movement, mix up the sequence and repeat. Fire at the enemy when you can. Yell a lot, keep everyone informed. Shoot a lot. Reload a lot, too. Keep doing this until you get where you want to get to.

Chuck was shitscared. This was _nothing_ like the movies made it out to be. Bullets fired at you are a hell of a lot louder than the movies make out, and there was none of the angry bee sound he expected.

Casey and Sarah were screaming at him to get down, but they were too far away to grab him. Goodsir zagged a little out of his way, and grabbing him by the scruff of the neck, dragged Chuck back into position with him, throwing him to the ground with himself. Sarah was still screaming at Chuck.

"It's Okay, I've got him. I've got him!" he yelled to Sarah. Casey nodded, and nudged Sarah. Sarah, paused, stared at Goodsir. She stared hard. After a moment, she nodded.

"Oh, fuck. Now I'm in trouble" he said to Chuck.

"Huh?" said Chuck calming down a bit.

"Well, if I bring you back with even a hang nail, she's gunna kill me. Gun GO!"

Everyone in the section chorused the call, and Cook, Dillan and Freeman ran forward for a few seconds and threw themselves to the ground, before firing a number of bursts from the machine gun.

Goodsir continued, "Okay, when I say, 'scouts,' you move with me, Okay?" Chuck swallowed and nodded. "Scouts GO!" yelled Goodsir, and the section echoed his call. Chuck, Goodsir and Curtis ran forward and threw themselves to the ground.

Chuck got the hang of it by the second movement, and Goodsir stopped dragging him. Once they were clear of the ambush zone, they just ran. They reached a point level with the enemy position, "Kev! Traversing, grazing enfilade fire. Go!"

"From a defilade position" came back the grin from Freeman. They'd both been on the same subject course. He and Cookie let fly with the machine gun.

"In position, boss," Goodsir called over the radio. ' _Copy_ ,' came the lieutenant's replay. They saw the remnant of the platoon move forward more aggressively. The APCs and ground troops coordinated themselves. 2-Morrow and his men used one of the APCs as rolling cover. The APCs reached a point where they couldn't depress the 50 cal gun down enough to cover the position. Goodsir heard the call over the radio directed at his men, _'Depth, move in for fight-through.'_

"Copy," he replied and Goodsir called for section fire, and the whole section advanced in extended line, with all the men firing as he kept Chuck behind himself.

During the fight-through, one of the enemy had been killed near the large machine gun they'd mounted on a tri-pod. His body lay, bloodied and dusty, flattened somehow. Chuck, and a lot of the men, were grateful they couldn't see how much damage a 50 cal machine gun could do.

There were two wounded enemy, and the remaining three tried to run before an awfully close warning burst from the RAEME vehicle stopped them.

One of the wounded was moaning constantly, and had lost a lot of blood.

The sig, Wang, was on the radio, reporting the contact to the company signaler in a low drone, Sgt Newman and Lcpl Nazibor 'Wrath' Kahn had both the medical kits open, attending their own first.

Cpl Kevin 'Kev' Freeman had rolled an ankle badly during the fight through and Pte Luke 'Julia' Roberts could now claim he'd gotten holes in his shirt, having been brought down with a through-and-through to his left calf, and a grazing dent to his helmet that they discovered later. A couple of Goodsir's guys had ringing in their ears from the road mine along with stiff and sore muscles from sitting pretty much over the explosion, but otherwise the only other injuries were scrapes from doing fire-and-movement over rocks.

-o0o-

 **A/N** – In the original version of this, I mentioned an item that used to be found in the 24hr ratpak of my time – 'Luncheon Meat Type 2.' Sadly, or not before time, according to your point of view on these things, Luncheon Meat Type 2 was removed from the ratpak about the turn of the century (and no, we never found out what happened to Luncheon Meat Type 1).

Whoever wrote the Wiktionary page, Appendix: Australian English Military Slang got it spot on, "Luncheon Meat Type 2 - An inedible can of pink stuff issued in some Ratpaks. Do not attempt to eat. Do not attempt to feed it to a dog - dogs won't eat it." Think an unholy cross between Spam and Pal (with marrow-bone jelly).


	4. Chapter 3

As of 15 Sep 2016, I don't own Chuck et al

To 'Trudge'

"I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more…" Goodsir half sung under his breath, "Just to _be_ the man who walked a _thuuusand_ miles just to fall down at your door…."

Chuck scuffed the dirt road beside Goodsir and looked at him, but pretty much lacked the energy do much more than roll his eyes. ' _Great,'_ Chuck thought to himself, _'now I'm going to have that stuck in my head_.'

The remains of the infantry platoon were in a forced march along the road. Normally in the field, the infantry eschewed any form of road or open(ish) path and trekked across country, as an open path also meant a clear line of sight, and thus a possible line of fire or land mines.

This part of Afghanistan was still a pretty flat, open dry landscape. Everything was a clear line of sight, so keeping to, or avoiding roads made little difference, and road side bombs were pretty much a risk, almost equal to the thirty year old land mines and other ordinances left by the Soviet occupation you could encounter if you went for a diddlybop across country.

They'd left the ambush site, personnel carriers, wounded and captives behind them. Lt Moore wasn't happy. Chuck overheard Sergeant Newman use the phrase, "Not. Happy. Jan," to describe the lieutenant's mood, and Chuck wondered who Jan was. It was probably from some TV show or something. Back at the ambush site, Casey had forced the situation. With prisoners, wounded personnel and personnel carriers, they would have been stuck there for some time. And stationary was what Casey didn't want to be. So after a sat phone call and then a number of radio conversations with battalion, off they all trudged, moving by what Goodsir called 'GP express.'

To Chuck, it felt like they'd walked for hours. Or days even. He felt hot, his rucksack felt like someone had snuck a load of bricks into it and most notably, his feet were _burning_ inside his boots. His gun weighed his arms straight down. Chuck wondered if he could hang it off his gear like he'd seen in the movies, but he noticed that none of the Aussies were doing that.

Sarah had been moving alongside him. Chuck realized this was the first time he'd seen her look tired. Or even disheveled for that matter. Bearing in mind that a tired Sarah looked like she still had a lot more in the tank than Chuck felt he had. She made sure he kept hydrated and kept moving at the same pace as the rest.

Sergeant Newman noticed the platoon was spreading out too far, and called a halt to reform, and rest for ten minutes.

"Oh, thank God," said Chuck as he collapsed into a pile where he'd stopped. Sarah dropped her rucksack, and went to Casey to confer and check the GPS. Goodsir dropped his pack, drank and then moved over and loosened Chuck's rucksack off his shoulders.

"Sir, get up," he said

"Tired," moaned Chuck. If his feet had hurt before, now they felt far worse.

"Chuck, look around," said Goodsir quietly.

From somewhere, Chuck found the energy to move and he looked up and down the road. He was the only one sitting down.

"Get up," insisted Goodsir, explaining, "If you take the pressure off your feet, you'll get blisters."

"I think it's too late," moaned Chuck.

"Then they'll get worse," said Goodsir without sympathy, "Get up," he insisted again.

Chuck sighed and lifted his hand grasp the offered hand the Aussie was holding out. With a gargantuan effort and noises that a ninety year old wouldn't make yet, Chuck was again vertical.

"God, it feels good to get that pack off," Chuck admitted. Seriously, without the pack, Chuck felt he was half his normal weight.

Goodsir nodded while he was scanning the horizon.

"Dizzy?"

"Yeah, mate?" asked Goodsir, slightly distractedly.

Chuck smiled to himself. He was a 'mate' now. He felt that that was a badge of honor. "Was that a bad battle?" he asked.

"Dunno, that was my first."

This was not the response that Chuck had expected. He scrunched his face up. "But you were so calm," he protested, "It was amazing, you dragged me, and … well you saved me," Chuck finished lamely, he felt.

"Mate," Goodsir said as he continued to scan the horizon along with checking his men, "I was petrified. I told you, if I brought you back with a scratch, _she_ would have killed me."

After the fire fight, Sarah had raced over to Chuck. Goodsir was sure she was about to hug him, but they stopped about a foot apart from each other.

"Chuck," she swallowed and continued, "Are… are you okay?"

Chuck nodded, and said, "Yeah, I'm good."

"You're okay?" she repeated. He nodded adding a smile for her.

Not moving away from Chuck, she'd glanced over to Goodsir, and smiled her thanks. A part of Goodsir's mind was pretty sure he'd do something stupid again to get a repeat of that smile.

"But how did you do it?" Chuck wanted to know.

"Mate, I been training for a while now. Bloody should have done alright," he glanced at Chuck, before continuing his scanning. "The training kicks in, I guess. When your sergeant yells, you jump. That's kinda what sergeants are for." Goodsir was quiet for a while before he continued as he looked at Chuck, "I'll tell you one thing for nothing, that clean-up wasn't normal. Your Major pushed for us to be on the road _very_ quickly."

"Uh, yeah," admitted Chuck, "We, ah, we need to be there before a certain time."

Goodsir accepted that and then noted movement further up the line. "Come on, sir. Let's go."

Chuck recognized that Goodsir had ended the moment by reverting to calling him 'sir.'

Putting their packs back on, they resumed the forced march. Chuck thought to himself that he did feel refreshed after that break. That feeling faded after only a few minutes. While Chuck was tired and hurting, he made himself move as normally as he could, to avoid the exhausted trudge he had done before.

Devon had told Chuck, a couple of years ago, how he'd done a couple of five or six day stages of the Pacific Crest Trail. At the time, Captain Awesome made it sound, well, awesome. And there was a level of stark beauty to the landscape. The lack of obvious human presence was probably the secret to that. But it wasn't awesome at all. It was uncomfortable, everything was heavy and there was nothing at all to look at. Devon had described beautiful hills, wildlife and the comradery of other hikers.

The biggest problem was being left alone with your own thoughts. Chuck didn't have the breath to talk much, and the others kept quiet out of habit. As a simple rule, the infantry don't make a lot of noise when out in the donga.

Chuck's thoughts circled around the 'gift' Bryce had sent him. It had placed himself, his family and friends in deadly danger more than once. And on the other side of that ledger, he was doing good. Good with a greater and a capital 'G.'

And, it also gave him Sarah.

Sarah was a whole 'nother circle of thoughts by herself. He wanted her. He sometimes thought she wanted him. She shot him down every time he thought they had a moment. But the way she pretended to show affection when they were in public, his fore-brain knew it was an act and all for show. The little caveman living at the back of his mind had other ideas.

He wished things would go back the way they were before. He wished he and Sarah were real. He couldn't have Sarah without the Intersect…

The platoon walked right through the afternoon. Chuck's feet hurt, but he didn't get blisters.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: Chuck rides in a chopper**

As of 22 Sep 2016, I don't own Chuck et al

Chuck rides in a chopper

The platoon crested a rise, and stopped with the airstrip in sight, but still some distance off. To the eyes of a pilot like Casey, it was really it was just a flatish section of desert with most of the larger rocks pushed off to either side. He'd hate to put down anything larger than, say a Cessna two-oh-eight or Beech Baron. A shipping container style trailer was resting on cinder blocks, and an open faced storage shed that was more farm shed rather than airplane hanger. Further off in the distance was a small radio tower.

It was late in the day, and the sun was low in the sky. Chuck had wondered what would happen. Would they make it to the airfield in time? Or keep walking in the dark? If darkness fell before they made it to the airfield, would they stop to do the 'form a circle, guns pointing outwards' thing? Or just keep going?

The platoon circled around to come in from the West. As the sun was setting, they took the field, checking the shed and the trailer. Both were obviously empty, one of corporal Morrow's scouts, Private Luke 'Julia' Roberts, reported that the trailer had obviously not been used in some time as judged by the layers of dust seen inside. The platoon harboured up, the technical term for what Chuck thought of as 'form a circle, guns pointing outwards,' in a ring about a thirty meter radius around the buildings. The three Americans quickly searched the shed before then moving onto the trailer. Chuck and Sarah entered and began a search while Casey circled the outside of the building. Sarah called him in after a few minutes.

When they all emerged some time later, Goodsir could see Sarah was pleased with Chuck, beaming at him. Casey seemed less pleased, but Goodsir was beginning to think that 'less pleased' was the Major's default setting. Casey made a call on his sat phone that lasted less time than it had taken him to dial whoever he dialed. Casey called Sarah over, and the two muttered to each other for a bit. Once they'd reached whatever decision they'd come to, Casey called Lieutenant Moore over.

The platoon stayed in position until full dark and then the signaler, Wang, came around to locate the two section commanders, Morrow and Goodsir, and call them over for further orders.

Lieutenant Moore began, "Guys, well done. The mission has been a success, and Major Casey," Moore indicated a scowling Casey, "is pleased, and has asked me to pass on his regards. The situation is, we will be now transported back to battalion. Get some food, and rest up. We should be out of here tonight sometime." Goodsir and Morrow glanced at each other on hearing they'd be on the move in the dark.

After the two section commanders left to re-join their men, there didn't seem to be anything to do while they were with the Lieutenant and Casey, so Chuck (and consequently, Sarah) found his way to Goodsir's section in time to share a meal. As it was dark now, they ate their rations cold. A condition that Chuck discovered, wasn't anywhere as nice as when they were hot.

Chuck found he was exhausted. The excitement of the fight, and then the long walk combined to give him a number of jaw cracking yawns. He sat with Goodsir, chatting quietly about movies, TV shows and stupid things they'd both done. After about five minutes, Chuck discovered Sarah resting her head on his shoulder, and both he and Goodsir shared a grin.

Goodsir knew he should send Chuck off to get some rest, not to mention his own men, but they ended up chatting for about an hour. Sarah somehow smiling in synch with Chuck when he did. No-one knew how she did it since her eyes were closed all the time.

In the still of the desert night air, Goodsir more felt, rather than heard, the distant rhythmic pulsing of a helicopter. He sat up, uttering a quiet, "Shit."

Sarah was awake instantly, and with her palm to Chuck's chest the gauged the situation. Her eyes locked with Goodsir's and they both relaxed a little.

"Friend of yours?" Goodsir asked her.

"Don't think the other side has air cover, come on Chuck," she said as they both got up, and she led Chuck to the center of the platoon. Casey was on his sat phone, talking via Fort Meade to the approaching aircraft.

Casey broke off to ask, "Walker, what color is your flare?"

She checked her pouches and responded, "Green."

"Green smoke thrown, over" he said into the phone, and then said to Sarah, "Throw it," as he indicated the dirt runway.

She went to throw the flare into the middle of the runway, and then returned to be with Chuck.

Lieutenant Moore said, "It would appear, our new friends have some influence. Looks like they're giving us a lift home," he turned to Sergeant Newman, telling him, "get the guys ready."

Three Blackhawks, painted black and with no markings Chuck could see, flew in, hovered noisily for what felt like an age and then touched down. Fine dust was blowing everywhere, and they kept their engines running. Three Blackhawks are very noisy, Chuck decided.

A soldier got out of the lead aircraft and, still wearing his helmet with the bug-like visor still down, spoke to Casey. Casey and the chalk commander pointed and waved their arms around a bit before Casey indicated 'come-on' to the Australian platoon commander. Sergeant Newman relayed the instruction using the field signal to Goodsir first, and then to Morrow.

This time Chuck got his way, and rode with Goodsir and his men. Sarah and Casey tagged along. Sarah and Goodsir quietly made sure Chuck held his weapon the correct way while riding in a helicopter while armed with live ammunition, barrel pointing down. The rotors, being 'up,' are rather important and generally speaking, chopper pilots don't like it if you accidentally shoot the big fan overhead.

Chuck was like a kid, grinning as he rode in the large chopper. TV and Hollywood show actors speaking their lines in only slightly louder voices when in operational helicopters. Without the intercoms that Casey had wrangled for himself, Chuck and Sarah, conversation would have consisted of yelling into someone's ear, and having them replying with a yelled, "What?!" Goodsir was offered a headset by default as he was the leader of the rest of the men. Another benefit of being the section commander was he got the window seat.

Military helicopters often fly with the doors open, about the one thing Hollywood does get right, so getting the window seat offers somewhat sphincter puckering views. There is a grab rail over the door to ease access for the embarking troop. It is commonly called a 'Jesus bar,' since the people who hold onto it in flight will often say that name, especially when the pilot tips the chopper over on its side.

Chuck felt almost hurt that his new …. mate, didn't get the same enjoyment he got. "You don't like flying?" Chuck asked Goodsir, he added, "I landed a helicopter once." Casey's head whipped over and Sarah nudged Chuck as he said this, but when Chuck looked back at Sarah, she knew he would keep the conversation safe.

"You, ah, you landed a helicopter you said? Once?" Chuck nodded with a slight smile, "Were you supposed to?" asked Goodsir.

"Well, the pilot, um, he, ah, he fell asleep, so I had to. Sara…. Um, I thought of some of the computer games I play, and I was able to bring it down."

"Any landing you walk away from, I guess. I know enough about flying fixed wing to know flying a plane is _way_ different from a flight simulator. My dad used to have an old Cessna." Goodsir paused, and then answered Chuck's first question, "Nah, I guess I just don't like not being in control. My dad used to let me take the controls," Goodsir explained.

Chuck glanced over at Casey, knowing he was a pilot. The big guy wore a mask, but Chuck thought he knew Casey a little by now, and maybe Casey had the same dislike of not being in charge, but he hid it better.

Curiously, Sarah had a similarly schooled expression. Did Sarah fly? Chuck wondered.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Socially excited**

As of my father's 90th birthday, I don't own Chuck et al

Socially Excited

There was a commotion at the entrance to the ORs mess. Goodsir tried to keep focus on his laptop despite the distraction. The other ranks mess was essentially a bar. It was late, the army is full of young men. Throw alcohol into the mix, and well, commotions are common enough.

"You need to be a guest to come in here, sirs and maam," Goodsir heard 'Wrath' Kahn say from the entrance direction.

Goodsir looked up from his laptop. Chuck, Sarah and Casey were at the entrance to the boozer. ' _Oh shit,'_ he thought to himself. He got up quickly and then said to Kahn as he headed over to the entrance, "Wrath, they're ….. " he started, before formally acknowledging the president of the mess committee, "Thank you mister president, these are my guests."

Goodsir took over admitting his surprise guests to the mess. Like most clubs with a defined membership, the mess featured a wall of plaques, photos and trophies that would mean absolutely nothing to an outsider. On a small table near the entrance there was a neglected guest book.

Goodsir said, "Can I get you to _scribble,_ " he emphasised ever so slightly and made eye contact with Sarah and Casey, "your names in the book please?"

Casey's eyes tightened and Goodsir noted he got the tiniest of nods from Sarah, who then whispered to Chuck, who nodded largely. When they signed the books, their names and units were less than legible.

"Please, have a seat," said Goodsir as he led them to the table where his laptop was playing music while his browser was open. As they all sat, Goodsir remained standing, and said, "We offer a massive choice of but three flavours of beer in our fine establishment." The Monty Python fan in the group of visitors noted that Goodsir held up all five fingers as he quoth the number. "A cheeky yet distinguished domestic, perchance?" he continued. The three Klingons nodded, and Goodsir said as he headed to the bar, "Although, that would be an import, seeing as how we're …..." He figured they'd take what they were given and bought four of the same brand of lager that he drank.

After the platoon got back, the Yanks had disappeared first. The platoon was assembled on a parade ground, and then dismissed. They cleaned and locked their weapons and ammo away into the armory. Sergeant Newman liaised with his counterpart from Bravo Company and the Quartermaster's Store was eventually opened by a grumpy Staff Sergeant, not happy at being disturbed in the evening, so that the men were able to access their echelon bags.

The platoon was also assigned a hut, along with cots to sleep in. As soon as Goodsir and his men had entered the base, they could smell the _clean_ on everyone else, and they suddenly were all aware of the stink that they were all responsible for. Grabbing fresh uniforms and underclothes from their 'esh' bags, there was an orderly crush for the communal showers.

Goodsir revelled in the feeling of fresh socks and jocks. It was a simple form of bliss.

-o0o-

Goodsir half debated just simply going to bed, thanks to the physical exhaustion from the day's activities, but he knew he was too keyed up. He found his laptop in the esh bag and followed the column of blob already heading for the boozer. Goodsir felt that he had earned a beer or nine.

The visiting Americans, all being officers, had been invited as a matter of protocol to the Officer's Mess. When the trio had gotten there, dinner had already been cleaned away, and the officers present had already had a few drinks, and so greeted the Americans warmly. Chuck found the beer stronger than he was used to, not that he was a drinker, but he _had_ been to Stanford, and well, drinking was known to happen at college. After three beers, he found himself well and truly buzzed. Casey, being the senior rank, faced most of the conversations. A situation it didn't look like he enjoyed. Sarah, not to anyone's surprise, found herself surrounded by a number of the male junior officers. She found the situation slightly amusing, as she checked on Chuck every few moments. Having a Marine Corps Major, and a pretty blonde Captain attracting attention, Chuck was virtually ignored.

Casey watched Chuck attempt to have conversations with a couple of the junior officers who were trying to use Chuck's association with her to get closer so they could try to chat up Sarah. Casey's eyes narrowed at the thought of Chuck having a military conversation with the men, and realised that there was a risk of exposure.

It was still too early for him to take Walker and Bartow… Carmichael away to get them to sleep, he thought of his options. The corporal, Goodsir, he hadn't asked too many questions, and Chuck could nerd out with him without betraying his lack of training any more than he already had.

Casey asked where the corporal might be, and was told where the ORs Mess was to be found. He gathered Chuck and Sarah up, and they left.

-o0o-

Chuck was curious, "Yes, but why can't we just come in? Isn't this a soldier's bar?"

"Yes Chuck, but you guys are _officers_. On a smaller base, we might have a shared mess. But here, there are officer messes, sergeants messes, and an other ranks mess. They're all a bit funny about allowing each other into each other's places."

Chuck accepted that. He also noted that his …. mate …. Dizzy had a laptop open and operational. Professional curiosity led him to silently ask, and receive permission to check out the computer. It was a fairly vanilla brand name XP laptop. A couple of years old, and powerful enough, unless his friend was a mad gamer. A quick directory search showed nothing more power hungry than a five-ish year old version of Tomb Raider, so he'd be okay.

The Aussie's iTunes playlist was running softly, and he scrolled through Goodsir's music. The playlist was a little more hard rock, a little older and more mainstream than Chuck had, but based on the songs that Chuck saw, and knew, it was a pretty good list. Somewhat obviously, there was a fair bit of Aussie stuff he didn't know.

The thought hit him, and Chuck asked, "How come you don't use an iPod?"

"I do, back in civvie street, but out here in the GAFA, bad idea."

Chuck tasted the word, 'GAFA,' silently. Goodsir clarified by spelling out the acronym on his fingers, "Great Afghanistan Fuck All. GAFA."

Casey was watching the TV. There was a bunch of players all in white on a grass oval. "What the hell is this game?" he asked, but suspecting he knew the answer. He'd never actually seen it before, but part of him knew a large part of the planet played the game.

"Cricket. Test Match, day… what day are we?" he asked of the next table. They held up three fingers, and he continued, "…. day three. We're playing…. looks like Sud Efrica" said Goodsir in a reasonable parody of a South African accent, and he continued in the same accent, "You know me Rutchie, I don't hold a grudge, to me a grudge is somewhere you pork your coor."

Sarah spluttered into her beer can, and laughed. The rest of them looked at her questioningly.

"Sorry, I'd forgotten that joke," she said as she took a more demure sip of the can. She asked Goodsir, "That was …. The Last Man?"

"Twelfth Man," he corrected with a nod acknowledging she'd gotten most of it right.

Chuck was fascinated, "How did…. have you been to Australia?" he asked her.

"I was …. stationed there for a bit." Sarah schooled her expression as she glanced at Chuck. It had been a simple document exchange some years back. She was sure Bryce had padded a couple of extra days on, as an informal holiday.

The cleaners had obviously missed the CD left in the convertible's stereo. As Bryce drove up the twisty sections of the ocean-side highway, the deep blue of the Pacific on the right, Sarah had discovered the CD, and they played it.

Later, she discovered it was all by the one man, but he had a range of imitations and accents that was phenomenal, even though neither of them knew who he was copying. There was a lot of swearing. An awful lot of swearing actually, but they'd both found it hilarious. The jokes that she and Bryce understood had her laughing in a manner that she rarely knew before she'd met Chuck.

Bryce rarely mentioned his life before the CIA. Neither of them did. This time, he glanced at her with a somewhat sad smile and said, "Knew a guy, friend of mine, back in college. He would've loved this," he said as he pointed at the car stereo.

Sarah realised that Bryce genuinely liked this never before mentioned friend. This was one of those closely held private moments that was something real. At least, at the time she'd thought it real.

She hadn't thought about that moment for a while, Chuck and his madcap adventures had kept her a little busy of late. And looking back in twenty-twenty hindsight, the mystery friend was obviously Chuck. The realisation and memory hit her harder than she expected. At the time, in the rental she'd felt a surprising stab of jealousy at this unknown friend. Whoever he was, he had a hold over Bryce that she knew she didn't, and would almost certainly never have. Bryce's expression showed that he'd genuinely liked this guy. Just the memory of him could bring out this side of Bryce.

For an instant, she wanted to let Chuck know, to share the memory with him. But Bryce was ….. a complicated subject with Chuck. He was understandably gun-shy at the mention of Bryce's name, even though she knew he was twice the man Bryce was. She wished she had the means of getting him to understand that.

Sarah didn't notice, but Chuck had pegged her hesitation. ' _Bryce_ ,' he thought to himself, _'something about Bryce._ ' But it was something…. something she wanted to share with him, he realised. Whatever the something was, he felt it was a good something. He wanted to ask her. Later, maybe.

"The loan car had the disc already in it. I didn't get all the jokes, but the ones I did were really funny. I loved Australia. Great scenery, the beaches are great. And I believe that would be my … shout?" she even managed to get a reasonable Australian accent into that last word.

Chuck smiled, knowing her skill with accents. He asked Goodsir, "A 'shout'?"

"Her turn at the bar. A round, I think you call it. As in, 'I'll shout you a round.'"

Sarah came back with a tray with the beer cans. Goodsir took the first one off the tray, and passed one to Casey saying, "The vessel with the pestle."

He passed the next one to Chuck, continuing with, "The flagon with the dragon."

Chuck grinned, recognising but not quite placing the quote. Sarah smiled because Chuck was smiling.

It was Casey who cracked them up, asking incredulously, "They _broke_ the chalice from the palace?"

The other occupants at the table stared at him in disbelief. Casey asked gruffly, "What, you own all the quotes? 'Sides, my mother loved that film."

"Oh, my God!" said a shocked Sarah.

"Get it?" asked Goodsir.

"Got it," responded Chuck.

"Good," confirmed Casey.

"Who are you, and what have you done with John Casey?" Sarah wanted to know.

That felt like a moment, so they held their cans aloft to clink them together, and then they took a sip. Chuck noticed the song that was currently playing. He liked it, but had never heard of the band.

"Cold Chisel," explained Goodsir at Chuck's pointing at the playlist. "Good pub band. Good beer drinking music."

Goodsir got his note pad out from his thigh pocked, and wrote down a couple of song titles. "When you get a chance, listen to these. Good maudlin drinking tunes," he said as he handed the note over to Chuck.

It read: ' _Flame trees'_ and _'Khe Sanh.'_

"Thanks," said Chuck, and then asked, "You keep pen and paper on you in a bar?"

Goodsir sat a little straighter, took a swig of his beer and repeated the words of his sergeant from basic training, "A good soldier always carries a pen, paper, piece of string and a knife."

Chuck looked at his friend a little strangely, he had after all drunk four-ish beers. And those beers, the most recent lot tasting like a Michelob, seemed a skootch stronger than he was used to. "A piece of string?" asked he, showing a not un-natural level of doubt.

Goodsir managed to look both hurt and smug at the same time, and reached into his pocket and took out a Swiss Army Knife pouch. He removed the knife to reveal it was wrapped in a macramé braid of green cord. "There's about twenty five metres of hoochie cord there," said Goodsir a little proudly as he wound the knife back up and inserted it back into the cover.

"I'm sorry, you said 'hoochie?'" He had a sudden flash of Jeff's sister. After a drink to flush that image away, he asked, "You call a rope after a woman with ….questionable….?" a little surprised.

"Oh….kay…. I don't know about that. A hoochie is a kind of tent we use in the infantry. I think the name came from Vietnam."

"Corp ….. Dizzy, you look like a man who could use a cigar." Casey interrupted.

Goodsir tried to Spock an eyebrow. "Okay, the beer garden?" he said, indicating the back doors.

"I'll be with you in a sec," said Chuck as he continued to play around with the playlist.

The beer garden was revealed to be a patch of concrete backed onto on three sides by the mess and two other demountable buildings. The defining garden part of the beer garden was a single pot plant struggling on by sheer bloody mindedness, despite all the cigarette butts in its pot. There were three ancient picnic tables. None of them felt like sitting at the moment.

Casey pulled an aluminium tubular case, like Will Smith from _Independence Day_ , from his top pocket and opened it, revealing two cop-show sized cigars. Casey offered one of the cigars to the younger man.

Goodsir eyed it with apprehension. It was much larger than any he'd smoked before. Casey went through the process of cutting and lighting his cigar.

After Casey lit his, Goodsir puffed tentatively, before asking, "OK, so I fucked up this bad did I?"

That produced an amused grunt from Casey, and at the sound, Goodsir seemed to relax. Sarah looked curiously at them both.

Goodsir said to both of them, "Straight from the old Section Commanders Hand Book. When you're training someone, and they fuck up bad enough, soften the blow, pull them aside and offer them a cigarette while you rehash the problem," he looked directly at Sarah and explained further, "I'm talking the _old_ book. The Vietnam era one. We still use it, 'cause it was written by people who work for a living."

Casey smiled internally at the thought of the ancient joke, 'don't call me 'sir,' I work for a living.'

Goodsir puffed a little more on the cigar, before eyeing it a little suspiciously and he asked Casey, "So, how bad did I fuck up?"

"Actually, you did well. This," Casey held his cigar up a little, "is a thank you. Walker described you as a cross between myself, and Chuck." _That_ looked like a bad taste in Casey's mouth thought Goodsir. Casey continued, "You helped Chuck. He likes you. He listened to you. And did what was asked of him for once." Casey paused and toasted Goodsir with the cigar again, "Thanks."

"It was for purely selfish reasons I can assure you. I didn't want him to get us killed. Why do I get the feeling we haven't finished with you guys yet?" asked Goodsir as he contemplated another puff on the cigar.

Casey made a noise, and Goodsir tentatively tagged that grunt as a number five, a small 'yes' sound.

"Walker tells me you've figured… that you're sharp," amended Casey, and he continued, "Well, no good deed goes un-punished."

Goodsir looked at Casey and asked, "So, do we all receive posthumous VCs? Or do our next of kin get told the brakes failed on the bus?"

He must have noticed Sarah's questioning look, and he explained, "VC, the Victoria Cross. Top honour in the ADF. Some of the recipients are still alive when they go get the gong from Her Madge."

Sarah rather felt that the explanation raised more questions than it answered. She tool another sip of beer, not sure if that would help.

"Well, properly done, neither," said Casey, "But you will have to sign some pretty tight paper work."

He puffed a couple of times on the cigar, and knew it was time to hand over to Walker. He said, "Well, I've had a long day. I'm going to go to bed. Keep it quiet when you get in," he said to Sarah. "Good night. Good work today," he said to Goodsir as he left via the side gate of the so-called beer garden, puffing on the remains of his cigar.

Once Casey was safely out of sight, Goodsir thankfully stubbed out his cigar further abusing the struggling potted ficus, "Gah! Bit much for me," he said to Sarah.

Sarah stepped forward, placing her hand on his upper arm said, "Thank you."

"Hmm?" he asked, pretending to be distracted by the remains of the cigar.

"You looked after Chuck today. Well, for the last, what? Two days? Thank you."

"You should tell him."

"Tell him, who, what?" she asked.

"Look, I'm not blind. He lo… likes you. A lot. And you are _damn_ keen on him. Pretty sure it'll be worth your while."

"It's ….. "

"Complicated, yeah. Wow, déjà vu. Comma-pause-however…."

"What's complicated? Where's Casey?" asked Chuck, as he joined them.

Sarah smiled at him. "Come on, let's go back inside."

-o0o-

While Sarah, Chuck and Goodsir were enjoying the beers, none of them wanted to drink too much. They each had another two cans, and mutually decided enough was enough.

They left via the beer garden gate. Only a little lost, they headed to the hut assigned to them all. Passing the kitchens, a half tame dog adopted by the base staff looked up at them and woofled hoping for food.

Goodsir said, "Oh listen, a Dickfer."

It took Chuck a little longer than normal to place the quote, and then he began to laugh.

Sarah knew that she would regret asking, because it would obviously turn out to be some old movie quote that only Chuck and a fellow nerd would get. Tradition dictated that she ask the question anyway.

In a bored voice, she asked, "Alright, what's a Dickfer?"

Chuck began to laugh harder. Sarah turned on him and in a sweet voice asked, "Chuck? I _will_ hurt you. What's a Dickfer?"

Chuck was now impersonating the guards in the Biggus Dickus scene from Monty Python's _Life Of Brian._

Goodsir decided to save his mate from the vengeance of his not-girlfriend, and clarified, "What's a Dickfer? To pee with."

' _Oh, God. Men,'_ she thought. They never knew the effort it cost her to keep a straight face.

They all got back to the hut. Chuck said as they tried to move quietly in the semi-dark, "Be werry, werry kwiet. We're hunting wabbits. Hahahah."

"Ok, seriously, the guys are trying to sleep."

"Sorry Sarah."

Goodsir said, "I'm guessing behind the blanket is the ladies half of this establishment. G'night ma-am, sir."

"Dizzy, it's Chuck."

"Not since we left the boozer, sir. Purporting to act in a military manner."


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Scanners on the range**

As of 07 Oct 2016, I don't own Chuck et al

Scanners on the range

The rifle made a God-awful BOOM to Chuck's abused head. Actually, he thought to himself, it made a hurt to his whole body.

Army bases across the world seem to all work on the principle of setting your alarm clock to 'Oh my God, it's still dark out' in the morning.

Chuck was a little disappointed with his friend for seemingly not suffering from the beer last night.

Goodsir had woken them up, and taken them to breakfast. Afterwards, Casey declined the offer pleading paperwork, Goodsir took them to the armory to get their rifles, and then out to the near-by riffle range.

"Dizzy, I hate guns," Chuck half pleaded, wishing to be as far as he could be from the weapon Goodsir held out to him.

"You're in luck then sir, this is a rifle."

Chuck felt that his mate was taking a bit of enjoyment at his, Chuck's, predicament.

Goodsir spent about an hour training Chuck the conditions of readiness after he'd staked a position and set them up away from the goings on of the range. They all lay down on the ground sheets that Chuck rather suspected were old canvas backed rubber raincoats left over from the Second World War.

Section commanders are also instructors to their men. Weapons drill being second nature, Goodsir chanted out, "There are four stages of weapon readiness. This is true for most weapons available to the infantry. They are, unloaded. Loaded. Action and instant. I'll focus on the M-16 you're carrying. Unload is when the weapon has the magazine removed, no round in the chamber, the weapon is _not_ cocked, the dust cover is up and the safety is applied."

As Goodsir went through the specifics, he indicated on the M-16 he was using as a demonstration piece where and what he was describing.

"Load is when the magazine is fitted to the weapon. Note that there is still no round in the chamber, and that the weapon is _not_ cocked, the dust cover is still up and the safety is still on."

"Action," he declared as he used two fingers to pull something slidey back and let it fly forward, before he shoved something else forward, and then flipped the dust cover he'd mentioned back up.

"Magazine is fitted, Weapon is cocked by pulling back in the cocking mechanism and releasing it to return under its own tension. Push the assist plunder. This ensures that the breach is fully home. Reapply the dust cover and ensure the rear sight is clear," he said demonstrating by tunning his finger down the handle/sight channel.

"Instant. Safety catch _off_. Finger off the trigger until you are actually firing," Goodsir said before continuing, "We can go to any condition from any other condition.

"Unload," he declared as he safed the weapon, removed the magazine, tipped the weapon over to the right and pulled the cocking mechanism back again. As he did this, a bright brass bullet was flicked from the ejection port onto the rubberised ground sheet he'd laid down. "Ensure there is no round in the chamber," he said as he rolled the weapon over onto its other side, so he could inspect the opening. "Squeeze the trigger _and_ ease the working parts forward. Safety on, and dust cover up."

"Alright, your turn. Always treat the weapon as if it is live, even when you've checked it. Ready?"

"No," said Chuck with a nervous smile.

"Stiff," said Goodsir. "Weapon pointed downrange, finger off the trigger guard. Unload!"

Chuck was taken step-by-step though the stages, and once he felt more confident Goodsir made him jump to any stage from any other stage. They loaded the magazine with the bullets Chuck had ejected during the training, Goodsir ensuring Chuck kept count of his ammunition and making him hunt for any missing rounds.

"Load!"

"Action!" Weapon pointed _downrange_ sir."

"Instant! Finger _off_ the trigger guard, sir."

"Action!"

"Instant! _Downrange_ sir. That a-ways."

After a number of cycles, Goodsir and Sarah glanced at each other, and nodded. Chuck was as ready as he was going to get. They gathered up the ground sheets and moved to the fifty metre mound.

For the first time in his life, Chuck fired a rifle. He decided he hated rifles, as well as guns.

Goodsir asked, "Captain Walker can you help, call fall of shot please?"

 _BOOM._

"Um, not sure," Sarah said after a slight pause.

Goodsir grinned to himself. _'That was a polite way of saying it,'_ he thought. "Right-ho Chuck. Both eyes open," he said.

Sarah looked at Goodsir, and he replied, "It works for me." He then returned his attention to Chuck, "Now, you're flinching at the recoil. Hold it tight. Firm. Don't hurt yourself, hold it too tight and your arms will tire. Firm, Okay? Line up the target with the sights. Foresight in the centre of the dot. Got it? Good, breath in. sights go down. Out. Sight goes up. Line it up when you are holding your breath. Good. Now, next breath, you are going to make a slow fist. Breath out. Breath in. Three, two, fist."

Boom.

"Good!" Decided Goodsir, "How did we go?"

"Low, left," replied Sarah.

"Again."

Chuck fired.

"Low, right."

"Again."

Goodsir worked Chuck through two magazines. Goodsir waited until the range officer signalled they could walk down to the butts to inspect the targets. Chuck suspected that more of the bullets should have been in the middle, rather than spread semi-evenly around the paper sheet. Goodsir said, "That's an okay grouping. M16s not a particularly accurate weapon."

Chuck thought his mate was being polite, but accepted the comment. The soldiers down in the butt trench slid the target frame down to their level and changed target sheets.

This time, Goodsir got Chuck to move the safety to full auto. "Just like in Aliens, sir. 'Short controlled bursts.'"

Chuck replied with, "I've got movement, I got readings. Front and behind."

Goodsir and Chuck then said simultaneously, "Oh man, I was getting short, too," they grinned at each other. Sarah sighed and rolled her eyes.

Chuck got the hang of firing on full auto. He recalled from old movies that it was supposed to pull up and right. He didn't notice a lot of movement.

He did notice that full auto burned through a thirty round clip very quickly. When they inspected the target this time, there didn't seem to be a lot of difference to his single shot version.

On their way back, the trio stopped to collect all the spent brass Chuck had fired along with the groundsheets. They then retired to the undercover benches that were near where Goodsir taught Chuck the weapons readiness conditions. From his pouches, Goodsir took out a roll of white flannel cloth, a weighted green string and a little bottle. "Weapons cleaning," he explained.

Using his own weapon, Goodsir showed how to open the weapon up, remove the breach block and how to clean the weapon, getting Chuck to do as he did.

"Tell you a war story, if you like," offered Goodsir.

"If it's the one where you save an American, uh, captain by dragging him along by the scruff of the neck, I've heard it," replied Chuck as he threaded some of the oiled up flannel into the eyelet of the pull-through.

"Sure? I've dined out many a time on that one. Okay, back in school, we have a school cadets in some area."

"Like the ROTC?" asked Chuck.

"I don't think so, it's an after school thing. Sorta like Scouts, but with more marching and less knot tying badges."

"We don' need no…."

"…stinking badges. You know, I get why she rolls her eyes so much," continued Goodsir with a grin. "Anyway, I saw a fly get shot once."

Goodsir noted that both of them were staring at him.

"This one time I was at the local rifle range. We were firing these old twenty twos, on loan from the club. We were third year cadets, we would've been about fifteen or sixteen, so we were coaching the first years. Myself and my mate, Glen, were side by side on the mound. My kid had finished, but Glen's kid had never fired a rifle before and he was scared."

Chuck nodded, he knew how that felt.

Goodsir continued, "Glen was having trouble getting him to calm down. I tried to help, by calling fall of shot for them, so Glen could focus on coaching the kid. His name was Kitchener, it was that bad I remember his name. Kid couldn't help it, but he couldn't shoot for shit. Anyway, I'm looking through the 'scope, and there was this blowfly crawling all over the target. A few shots, and the fly didn't react. Then one shot, and there was no fly. Just a hole where it was, one wing and one leg stuck to the paper. Total accident. Last I heard, that section of the target was still framed in the club house."

When they finished, Sarah took the ground sheets back to the end of the bench where they were kept, Goodsir took the sandbag of spent brass over to the collection point and Chuck was asked to sign off for using the range by the range officer.

Goodsir saw it happen from the side. Chuck was talking to Lieutenant Rowe. She was a petite woman, and she reminded Chuck somewhat of Lou, from the plaza deli. Goodsir and Sarah both came back in time to hear Lt Rowe say, "Really? That's amazing," as she tucked a strand of her hair back over here ear. "So will you be at the officer's mess tonight? We could…"

Goodsir never found out what Lt Rowe was offering that they could do, because at first he thought there was an angry Rottweiler nearby, before he realized the source of the noise.

"Thankyou Chuck," said Lt Rowe, as she walked away. Goodsir felt that Lt Rowe was swaying her hips a little more that was covered in the Queen's regulations.

Goodsir neared Chuck, and asked him in a quiet voice, "Uh, Chuck? You Okay?"

"Sure, why?"

"'Cause you have two holes in the back of your scone from the lasers shooting out of Sarah's eyes, don't look _now_ ," he hissed. "Lt Rowe should be a mushroom cloud about now. That adorable bodyguard of yours just went into psycho 'Scanners' mode. Let me guess, your last girlfriend was brunette, right?"

"Um, yes. Uh, I mean… Sarah? No. What? Scanners? Really?"

Sarah came up, and with a bright smile said, "Hi guys, ready to go?"

"Resistance is futile."

-o0o-

When they got back to the lines, the signaller, Wang, found them and told them, "Major Wiley 's compliments and would you meet with him in his office at 1300?"

"Okay, thank you, um, private," said Sarah

"Dizzy, that includes you, too," added Wang.

Chuck smiled, Goodsir did not.

 **A.N.** The blowfly incident is real, except I don't know what happened to the paper target. Glen and I rather wanted it.

 **Technical Note:** I know the US uses 'lock and load' for weapons readiness. If I were teaching anyone weapons readiness (and I have), I would teach the system I know. Regardless of their nationality.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7: Three conversations**

As of 14 Oct 2016, I don't own Chuck et al

Caution, mild sexual content.

Three conversations, one by day

The Land Rover rolled as quietly over the landscape as it could. Before they'd left, Casey had pulled all the lighting fuses and Goodsir had greased up the trailer connections so the engine would be the biggest noise concern.

Goodsir had wanted to make some comment about how, in the Tom Clancy books, the special forces would probably had some special silencer fitted to the muffler. He decided not to. His gut feeling was that Casey might not have taken the comment in the manner in which it was meant.

Goodsir had found his rhythm with the driving now. In the dark of the night, they almost idled along. The idea being that a roaring engine would be heard further away, but an engine just above idle might be harder to locate by its sound. That was what a friend-of-a-friend who may (or may-not) have been in the SAS had once told Goodsir, and Casey nodded. He'd used exactly the same technique in a North African desert before he'd spent a number of weeks hidden in the walls of the compound of a certain self-promoted Field Marshal President For Life that was no longer either a field marshal, or a president. Crawling along in low range, second gear, Goodsir used the engine torque to roll over the Martian-esque landscape, he was heading vaguely north-ish.

Driving in the night with no lights necessitated the use of night vision goggles. When Casey handed the nods out, Goodsir quoted, "Where does he get those _wonderful_ toys?" In the back, Chuck nudged Sarah, and also quietly sang, "Vicki Vale, Vick-a-Vicki Vale." Both Casey and Sarah rolled their eyes audibly.

At the earlier meeting with the battalion 2IC, Major Wiley, Major Casey and Goodsir's commander, Lieutenant Moore were already present. Goodsir could see LT Moore was seething. Casey was relentless, and got his way. The battalion 2IC was relived, with the connections Casey had organised, he could have demanded, and gotten, a Bushmaster and a whole platoon if he'd wanted. Casey had declined the larger armored vehicle and gone for a smaller soft skinned Rover, one that could be operated with the minimal crew he had in mind.

This 'smaller crew' seemed to comprise of themselves and Corporal Goodsir. They loaded up the trailer with diesel oil and drinking water in their respective color coded jerry cans, almost enough weapons to orbit Arnold Schwarzenegger, boxes of ammunition and rations.

They drove north from the base and stayed on the road for a couple of hundred kilometers before going off the hard-top and just heading across country. They rotated drivers roughly every two hours. Chuck found it strangely disconcerting to drive from what should be the passenger side. The pedals were normal, but the stick shift was on his left. It just felt wrong. And then, after a bit, he'd forget about it, and then it would hit him again.

During the next day, when Goodsir was driving, and Casey was riding shotgun, Goodsir glanced over his shoulder into the rear of the Rover, to check the other occupants were sleeping, he then quietly asked the big Marine, "So, what's the story with the two lovebirds?"

Casey stayed quiet for a bit, and Goodsir began to wonder if he'd asked a forbidden question. Then Casey replied, "Numb nuts back there got, well, sort of drafted."

"O…..kay," dragged out Goodsir in an uncertain tone.

"Well, Walker and I work for … different arms of the government."

"Army, Navy. Right?" asked Goodsir, pretty sure those weren't the gumment arms that Casey meant.

Casey grunted an amused noise and grinned mainly to himself, "Yeah. Well, no names, no pack-drill. Anyhoo, a lot of what we do is in the public eye, so we do a lot of plain clothes. Well, a couple can get places a single guy can't. So …. They pretend to be a couple. Only I think it stopped being _pretend_ about three seconds into the first meeting."

They drove for a few moments in a companionable silence, before Goodsir asked, "Be the end of the Earth if they did get together?"

Casey flicked another look over his shoulder into the back, and after a consideration he admitted, "Be honest, as long as they were discrete, it would probably be good for them. Take away my fun though. But there are rules. We need to put Chuck in situations, or get him to do things he wouldn't normally do." They drove for a bit longer and Casey kept his gaze deliberately forward, and muttered quietly, "You care for someone, it becomes difficult to do that. Or you do something stupid trying to save them."

"Honestly, think you're there already. Anyway, that's exactly what my Mum does to my Dad all the time. She makes him do stuff he hates, all the time.

Casey made another amused noise at that. "Well, Walker's still professional. And as a team, we have a good success rate. If it gets out she fraternized, she'd get transferred. That'd mean me breaking in a new partner. God-knows how Chuck'd take it. Anyway, he's on camera all the time. This has been the longest he's gone without being filmed. So, not a lot of opportunity for them," he added with an evil grin.

"Cameras," Goodsir confirmed, and double checked, " _All_ the time?

"All. He's important."

"All," triple checked Goodsir. He thought about living his own life as a hellish version of the world's worst reality TV show. That would suck big time. And be very boring for the audience. "Think about it this way," Goodsir offered. "If they get together, it'll stop the longing looks and all the single entendres, they'd be able to focus. Well, after about the first three weeks."

Casey made a non-committal grunt at that.

At their next change of driver, Goodsir rolled to a stop, and leaving the engine clattering along to itself, they got out to stretch and Goodsir took the opportunity to water the rock garden. The cessation of movement woke Chuck and Sarah. When they climbed back on board, Casey took over the wheel, and Sarah took the shotgun seat.

Goodsir and Chuck climbed into the back. Chuck fell back asleep fairly quickly, and after a bit, slumped over towards Goodsir and rested his head on Goodsir's shoulder. Goodsir straightened him back up, quoting, "Chuck? Rule number one, no poofters."

Several rotations later, Casey was shaking Goodsir awake. "Time to swap."

Sarah was driving. Goodsir climbed into the front seat, locking his Austeyr into the built-in rack between them. She handed him the GPS. As he fiddled with the unit for a bit, then turned to her with a grin and said, "There's a red thingy headed towards a green thingy… I think we're the green thingy."

She shook her head at him in puzzlement. Goodsir looked at her and said, "Oh, come on. You wanna hang with us cool kids, you gotta know the lingo. Get him to show some of his favorite films."

"Oh, he's done that," she replied back with a grin, remembering way more sci-fi and super hero movies in past few months than she'd seen in any previous time of her life.

That puzzled him, and he commented, "You strike me as the type that pays attention."

"Maybe I pay attention to different things."

"Been doing that all my life. And here I am, livin' the dream."

They rode for a bit and Goodsir was scanning the night with his other new toy, the night vision nods. They were in pretty rough country now. They were following a dry river valley, one with pretty respectable mountain ranges on either side. The terrain feature of the GPS showed these would get closer a little bit further on.

"If I were to put a check point anywhere, I'd aim for this narrowing here," he said to Sarah as he held the GPS screen out to her, indicating the natural chokepoint.

"Strangely enough, that's what we thought too. Mainly because that's where the border crossing is. We'll pull over and scope it out before we get there. We should get there around about about daybreak."

"Any traffic?" Goodsir asked.

"At the crossing?" she showed puzzlement.

"Sorry, I meant tonight."

"Picked up a heat source on that ridge a while back. Miles away," she gestured over her left shoulder, and continued, "Whatever it was, we doubt they heard us, so we should be okay."

"Probably Bin Laden," muttered Goodsir as looked back at the sleepers in the back. "You know, in a way, Chuck's pretty lucky."

"What do you mean?" she said slightly puzzled. Nothing that had happened to Chuck in the past few years would she have considered 'lucky.'

"You," Goodsir clarified looking at her. "For guys like us, I mean me and Chuck. _You_ kind of swim in a different gene pool. We still think Jean Luc Picard is cool."

Sarah smiled a little and thought to herself, ' _Two years ago, I had no idea who Picard was. But now, well, I've had to sit through some, and you know what? Picard_ is _cool_.'

Goodsir continued, "Look, unless I've completely misread Chuck, and he's an unmitigated cad," she shook her head with a smile. Goodsir acknowledged that with a nod and a frowny smile as he continued, "Well, as I understand it, you've been ordered to be around him, right?" That rated a brisk nod from her. "Well, unless he crosses the boundary, well, he…. he's stuck with you. That probably sounds terrible." He checked for any reaction, but if there was one, the night vision nods hid it. He tried a different tack, "Has he at least asked you out?"

She smiled to herself a little, and nodded. "He knows where the boundaries are. Well, mostly."

Goodsir grinned at than and echoed the word 'mostly' in a quoting girly sort of voice.

She glared at him through the night vision gear, and demanded, "Okay. Seriously, what is that? Chuck does that to me all the time!"

Goodsir grinned hugely into the dark and said, "You should ask him." He paused for a few large rocks to make them rock back and forth as they drove over them. Goodsir rechecked the back and said, "You know Casey's pretty cool with you guys? Sounded like he doesn't like breaking in new partners."

"God, you're as bad as he is!" She said in an exasperated tone.

"Everyone loves the underdog."

"Chuck's not…" she began quietly in a firm tone.

Goodsir continued, "You know, pathetically grateful to be yelled at for not staying in the car."

"Trust me, he's not grateful, pathetic or otherwise," she declared.

"Poor phrasing," admitted Goodsir, before continuing, "But he's pretty sure it beats the alternative. Never seeing you again."

' _God, I know that feeling,'_ she thought. "Well, if the stupi… if he stayed in the car…So, uh, what did, um, Casey say?" she said as she checked the back for spies.

' _Ah ha!'_ Goodsir thought to himself, "Well, he trusts you. Trusts you both, actually. Said he'd miss teasing Chuck though. Frankly I think it would give him more ammunition. Just don't rub his nose in …. anything."

' _God, wish it was that simple,'_ she thought to herself.

Goodsir decided to ease off, and broke the moment by holding the GPS out to show her, "If we wanted to admire the view of the mountains, we should stop soon, maybe go for a wander."

"Let's get a bit closer to this side, and find somewhere to hide the car."

"Rover."

"Whatever."

Goodsir grinned up at the green Matrix-esque sky the night vision gear gave and said, "You know, any conversation where you use 'whatever,' if you swap it with 'fuck-off,' the conversation still works?"

Sarah contemplated for a moment, and then gave him an evil grin, "What-ev-er," in her best valley girl accent. Which was disturbingly accurate.

She drove as close to the ridge as she could. They found a ledge that could give cover. The silence of shutting the engine off woke the others. Well, it woke Casey, who roughly woke Chuck.

-o0o-

They got the cammo nets out, and covered the Rover and trailer, staking the edges into the hillside. Short of reversing into a cave, this would have to do. To Chuck's eyes, the Jeep-like car vanished like they'd engaged a cloaking device, but to Casey and Goodsir, it was painfully present. They geared up, filling every ammunition pouch with filled magazines, and started climbing up the ridge. The weight of the ammunition was surprising to Chuck.

The climb wasn't easy, even with night vision. The 'nods' had their own problems, depth perception was non existant, as was the scale. The weight of the devices made the helmets wobble, and keeping the eye pieces aligned was more trouble than they were worth. After a few minutes, Goodsir found his neck was feeling the burn as he was holding his head in an artificial attitude and he decided it wasn't worth it. He switched his off, and flipped them up.

He began to regret the decision as his eyes adjusted from the artificial light of the nods to the pre-dawn dark. He noticed Casey and Sarah came to the same decision. Casey called a halt for several minutes so their eyes could become dark adapted. Goodsir got Chuck to follow suite in switch his off, and they all packed the goggles away.

They resumed their ascent. Chuck was still the noisiest of the group, but he was miles better than he had been when he'd first climbed the hill near SanlyBowitz. The group reached the top of the ridge, and Chuck realized that dawn was coming. There was a noticeable line of blue on the horizon now. They followed the ridge, fanning out into a diamond shape. Casey in the lead, Goodsir on the left, Sarah on the right, and Chuck in the position known in polite society as 'tail-end Charlie.'

The ridge was beginning to fall away gently, and as it became light enough to make out more detail, the check-point came into view below. Chuck was reminded of a line from _Lucifers Hammer,_ something about the Koran defining dawn as when you could tell a light thread from a dark one. The check point electric lights stood out sharply. Casey called for a stop-and-prop. Goodsir got Chuck to cover his sector, by miming an exaggerated sweep with his own rifle, and gesturing the area Chuck should cover. Chuck nodded and turned to cover his six.

Casey beckoned Goodsir over and whispered, "Walker and I will scoot around to the front from _that,_ " he said gesturing to the right, where the sun was beginning to make its presence known, "side. Ten minutes, move forward to that bush, prepare to cover."

"Got it," Goodsir acknowledged as he checked his watch.

Casey and Sarah ghosted their way into the rising sun. Goodsir moved closer to Chuck. "They're good," he whispered to Chuck.

"Yeah," whispered Chuck with a knowing smile.

When the ten minutes were up, the two moved to the head of the rise. Goodsir could see there was a faint footpath leading from the check point below heading up to a presumed observation post on the ridge. Lucky they'd picked _this_ ridge. Goodsir felt it would be a bitch to get unseen over to the other range.

There was movement ahead. Goodsir thought that if you weren't looking, you'd never have seen it. There hadn't been a sound.

Then Casey and Sarah walked almost casually back to the waiting Chuck and Goodsir. Casey said, "Ok, back to the Jeep."

Goodsir corrected him, "Rover."

Casey replied, "Whatever."

Chuck noticed that Sarah suddenly found something amusing.

With the now growing light, movement back to the Rover was quicker than earlier.

They drove closer to the crossing. Out of sight of the crossing, Casey and Sarah got out while Goodsir kept the Rover moving slowly. Goodsir took his time joining the actual road leading to the crossing. By civilian terms, it was still early, but to both the boys, it felt like mid-morning. And they'd missed breakfast.

While they were driving, Goodsir broached the subject. "You do know she's keen on you, right?"

Chuck thought for a moment before nodding slightly and admitting, "Yeah, but we're both stuck. If I push it too hard, she'll ask for re-assignment."

"Somehow I'm pretty sure you would have to be totally disgusting for that to happen."

"Yeah, but Casey…." Chuck dragged out.

"Would love it," concluded Gooodsir. "Imagine how much more he'd be able to rib you two. He doesn't want to break up the team."

"God, I wish it was that simple," Chuck muttered to himself.

"Look, just, don't go anywhere, you know? Be there. She'll make her mind up. It's her call, it's _always_ the woman's call. Just be standing within three feet of her when she does make her mind up. And preferably have something soft to land on when she does. 'Cause it's gunna be epic." They both grinned. Goodsir continued, "Or, save her life. Hero's reward, you know? Shoot the bad guy while he's got her drugged and dangling off a bridge somewhere."

"Drugged?" asked Chuck, doubtfully.

"Well, far as I can see, that's the only way _any_ bad guy's gunna be able to dangle _her_ off a bridge."

"Nice to see you've put some thought into this. But, hang on, if she's dangling? And I shoot the bad guy …."

Goodsir thought about the scenario, and then admitted, "Didn't say it was a perfect plan. Ok, shoot him _before_ the danglage. Then, as he falls into…. OK, shit, this is harder than I thought. Um, and she'd have to be conscious too, so she could see you save her ….. bugger it, stick with plan A, less variables." Goodsir glanced at Chuck and they shared a grin. Goodsir then asked, "So, Casey said you were on camera all the time?"

"Yeah, well, not what I want, but….. yeah. At my day job. My home. I live with my sister and her fiancé. Everywhere."

"Bedroom, bathroom?"

"Yep."

"Ouch," said Goodsir, thinking of his own life at home.

"Oh, it gets worse," Chuck explained, "To explain why Sarah and Casey are around me all the time, Casey works in the same place that I do, and lives across the courtyard from me. And Sarah is my fake girlfriend. Since I live with my sister, to convince everyone that we _are_ a couple, Sarah's had to sleep over a few nights. Cameras .…"

"Ok, um, how do you deal with … ahhh... first thing in the morning?" Goodsir's eyes darted to his own lap and back "You know, that first glorious piss of the day?"

Chuck laughed, "I like that." After a moment, his smile faded, "Um, not fun."

"She know?"

"Yeah," Chuck recalled the first time Sarah found … him? It? Him.

 _Sarah had rolled over half awake, and her hand had bumped into his erection that had escaped from his boxers. She'd moved her hand back to confirm what she'd found. After heart stopping moment, she whipped her hand away very quickly._

 _Her eyes widened, darted to the cameras, then back to Chuck. Her expression softened. They both mouthed the word, 'sorry.' Chuck sort of shrugged to mean,_ 'my bad.' _Then, they spent the next minute or so just gazing into each other's eyes. They'd never spoken about it since._

 _It was both the saddest, and one of the most hopeful moments they'd shared._

Glancing at his watch, Chuck saw it was time. Goodsir sped up, and soon the crossing point was in sight. They pulled up short of the crossing. They both got out, Goodsir holding a large topographic map out in front of himself. They walked up to one of the guards with an apologetic smile, and both arguing amongst themselves, and asking directions in English.

When Goodsir saw he had the guard's attention, he pointed over the guard's shoulder, saying, "That's a strange place for a piano." The guard turned 'round to find a beautiful blonde woman in uniform charging him down. The guard whipped his attention back to Goodsir only find a rifle butt rapidly approaching his face. He never head Goodsir's apologetic, "Sorry," with a feral grin that bellied that word.

The other guard ran to the altercation. Only to have Casey seemingly materialize out of nowhere, and bring him down.

"Holy snapping duck shit!" escaped from Goodsir. How did the big major do that? It was like he'd been standing in plain sight all the time, just no-one had seen him.

Chuck looked down at the two unconscious guards, and did a good Homer-esque impersonation, "Mmmm, duct tape…."

Goodsir checked with Casey, "Anyone else?"

Casey replied with a grin, "Tied up at the moment."

"That never gets old, does it?" smiled Chuck

"Alright, let's keep going," decided Casey.

Goodsir said as they headed back to the still idling Rover, "You know, I do believe this constitutes an international incident."

Chuck smiled before he quoted, "Shiny, let's be bad guys."

-o0o-

 **A.N.** The 'morning after' scene is my thoughts on what could happen after **ne71** 's hilarious "Chuck Vs the Premium Drunk."

I have also shamelessly plagiarized the "stay within three feet" line from **Course Jester** 's excellent "Sarah Vs The Second First Date."


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: The former Soviet factory**

As of 21 Oct 2016, I don't own Chuck et al.

The former Soviet Factory

By mid-morning, they were driving back on a two-lane blacktop road. The dirt road leading from Afghanistan through the border crossing check point had eventually joined the current road.

They were making good time now. When they could, they skirted around some little villages, the others they brazenly just drove through, and nobody paid any attention. Chuck reasoned that in this part of the world, the locals were used to military jeeps cruising by. By late afternoon, the little towns were getting larger and closer together. The desert had changed a little. It was still hard farming country, but there were farms. There were even fences.

When they changed drivers, all took the opportunity to stretch and attend bladder control. By silent agreement, whichever side Sarah got out was her side for this. The men fanned out in the other three directions, studiously not looking at her.

By the second time this happened, Casey and Goodsir found a game to play and tried to get Chuck to take the quadrant opposite Sarah. She picked it the first time.

It was dark when they pulled up outside the town Casey had marked on his map. They hid the Rover in an old shed. The farm looked like it hadn't been used in years, so they figured that the Rover would be safe. They all loaded up on gear from the trailer, ensuring they all carried as much ammunition as possible. Chuck was surprised at the weight. Casey made them all check the radio sets before off cross country.

After being in an army road trip for a day and a bit, it was a nice change to stretch their limbs and walk. After five minutes, Chuck was reminded of the forced march they'd done to get to the airfield, and he began to miss the little off road SUV.

The night was pleasantly cool, and a three quarter moon gave them plenty of light to move safely. The flat landscape made Chuck compare it to Kansas, or one of the other flat states. He wondered if they had tornadoes here. He'd never heard of any from the news, but, well this was essentially Russia; not very well known for its sharing of current events, and also, there wasn't much around to decimate aside from wheat for any tornado to ravage. At least, Chuck thought it was wheat. He wasn't big on farm crops.

Casey's navigation led them to a derelict looking railroad and keeping to one side, they followed it. Goodsir described this as flying IFR. Casey made a slightly amused grunt and Sarah smiled slightly. "What's that mean?" asked Chuck.

"I follow railways," replied Goodsir. He continued, "If you're flying in bad weather, not certain where you are, follow a road or railway. They _have_ to lead to a town at some point."

Chuck considered that. It was technically correct, but he thought that jumbo jets used a slightly fancier form of navigation.

A couple of miles following the railroad, it led them to their target. There was even a spur line and freight yard for the building that was their target. What looked like an old Soviet era factory or mill. To all intents and purposes, it looked rusted and abandoned.

"Zoinks, Scoobie ….."

"Chuck, shhhh," said Sarah.

There was a large faded sign written in Cyrillic, naturally. At the sight of the sign, Chuck flashed. "Ok, wow, um the third floor, North East corner has been _slightly_ modified. And he's got a lot of bombs. And the security is elegant." Goodsir looked at Chuck in puzzlement, and checked the reaction of the others. They seemed to accept this as normal. Perhaps it was. Goodsir wondered what was going on.

They fanned out, and approached the old factory with care. Casey and Sarah checked for and confirmed their intelligence that there wasn't any other surveillance. Casey was able to attach some black box of his onto the wires coming from a camera on a phone pole, and that seemed to be that. To the left of the massive hanger type doors sitting closed over the railroad spur line running into the factory, there was a more human scaled doorway. Chuck was right, the security was good. It took Sarah more than five minutes to get them in. Even with Chuck's magic on the laptop. There was muttering, maybe even some cursing, and with Chuck's nod, Sarah turned her tools and the lock moved silently and the door was open.

The lights were off inside, and the void of the old factory was inky black. Casey and Sarah wordlessly got their night vision goggles out and began attaching them to their helmets. Goodsir and Chuck followed suit.

They lined up, and as they entered, they lowered the goggles as they turned them on. They fanned out into the factory floor and began moving across the factory floor. There were some very big chunks of old Soviet machinery. Overhead there were pulleys and hooks. There seemed to be a new section over to the right.

Goodsir thought to himself as they entered the newer looking zone, that Chuck was right. Whoever _he_ was, he had a lot of bombs.

"Wow. Is bomb. Werry, big bomb." Goodsir whispered the quote in a stage Russian accent.

Chuck judged the bomb casing, and glancing at Sarah, who happened to glance back at him, Chuck then whispered back to Goodsir, "Seen bigger."

Goodsir replied after a moment. "Should I notice that you say that so casually."

"Scary part was _after_ we couldn't defuse it, or get away in ….OW!" Chuck looked at Sarah who was ten feet away radiating an air of angelic innocence.

"Quiet!" Hissed Casey. "Bart - Carmichael, Walker, try that side. Corporal, you're with me." Casey indicated to his right for Chuck and Sarah to head.

Casey had picked the hard way. Avoiding the stairs, the two climbed the struts of the building itself. There were lights on, on an upper level, so off came the goggles once they'd ascended sufficiently. Peering over the edge floor, they saw three guards doing what bored guards do, nothing. Casey and Goodsir were some six feet away from the ledge of the floor. This level of the lit area was suspended separately from the building walls. It was a building within a building. They would have to jump over quietly. Easier said than done while carrying weapons and ammo.

Sarah and Chuck had an easier time. They were able to climb the factory machines, and were able to get to the floor without incident. Moving across the level, Sarah spotted the guards, pulled Chuck out of sight, and peered around the crate they were using for a shield. Casey signaled 'quiet' to Sarah, and jumped over to the ledge before chinning-up onto the floor.

One guard caught sight of Casey as he rolling over onto the floor, and shouted. Only to be cut off by Sarah butt-striking him on the head with her rifle. The other guards, torn as to which direction to react, were also knocked out. One by Casey, Sarah took the other. Goodsir was still chinning-up after his leap, and was hoping he wouldn't need help to get on the floor. You could make a movie using those moves Sarah used. _Crouching, Hidden Something's_ he thought

Casey said quietly, "Quickly, someone might have heard that. Let's get up there." They bound the thugs with zip locks, hid them roughly, and this time used the stairs.

Peeking over the edge, Goodsir couldn't see anyone on this floor. Even so, he moved cautiously and made sure before inviting the rest to join him. The next level was Chuck's third floor. The level looked like it should be inside an office block, or more accurately, a laboratory. This time there were guards. Too far away to sneak up on.

Casey opened up with his two-oh-three under-over version of the carbine M4 he carried as he burst onto the floor. Sarah and Goodsir fanned out. Two guards were down, the others taking what cover they could. Goodsir saw one pesky guard was using a corridor corner for cover, Goodsir could see by the damage their rounds were having that it was just dry wall. He adjusted distance from the corner, and shot the guard through the wall. The battle was a lot louder that the movies make it out to be. Casey and Sarah moved aggressively through the offices. Goodsir and Chuck kept behind, covering the rear and the two agents in front.

Chuck fired a burst in the general direction of the guards who'd snuck up behind them, along with an involuntary shout. He didn't hit anyone, but the warning, and girlish scream, warned the rest. Team Carmichael now found themselves pinned down on two fronts. Casey had a group to the front keeping him busy. Goodsir and Chuck had the new group coming in from the rear. Sarah was torn, firing in both directions from a poor position.

The shot hit her in the chest, knocking her flat, and under a desk.

Chuck only saw Sarah's boots pointing toes up, and froze. He literally couldn't think, couldn't move. Then to his immense relief, her foot moved, and she groaned. Her vest had done its job, thank God. Chuck heard her swear softly, and discovered he hadn't breathed since forever.

During the Sarah emergency, one of the guards saw Chuck freeze. He aimed at Chuck. Goodsir got him first, shooting the guard. The other two guards reacted at the death of their fellow, and exposing themselves trying to get a shot. Goodsir switched to auto, and he stitched about twenty rounds across them. He was changing mags as the last one of the trio fell to the floor.

Goodsir got to Chuck's side, "Good move there."

"What?"

"Drawing their fire," he said with a feral grin. "You make good bait. Don't do it again, Okay? Let's go see how she is."

They got to Sarah as she was getting to her knees. Casey called out, "She alive?"

Goodsir replied, "Yeah."

"Good."

Goodsir said to Sarah "Wow, he really likes you."

"Well, for Casey, that was gushing," explained Chuck.

"Chuck, cover that a-ways," said Goodsir, and he then asked Sarah, "You good?"

Sarah rubbed her chest. The two boys furiously studied their surroundings for bad guys. "Well, that's going to leave a mark," she said. "Let's go."

Sarah and Casey were able to advance the battle. With two more bad guys down, Casey threw one of his stun grenades, giving warning via the team radio. They quickly subdued the disorientated guards, binding them up. Casey called, "Chuck! Which way?"

"To the left."

They found a different area of the level. This area looked decidedly like a medical laboratory with sealed walls and pressure windows. There was a by-God air lock built into the bulkhead to the left. Chuck went to a terminal station and plugged in his laptop. Casey and Goodsir fanned out. Sarah stayed where she was. The laptop translated the menus into English.

"Oh shit oh God oh dear. This is bad. Very bad."

Sarah called to him, sounding concerned, "Chuck. What is it?"

"Um, Oh God. This stuff makes Sarin look like fruit punch. Looks like they plan on shipping it, oh God. Pick a city."

"Barto - Carmichael! What is going on?" demanded Casey.

"OK, Stone Diamond has weaponized this stuff. Those ex-Soviet shells we saw down stairs? They're full of it. I've got shipping documents ready for Washington. London. Tokyo….."

"Chuck!" cried out Sarah as a new batch of bad guy turned up. Two of them grabbed Sarah. Casey reacted in time to fight off the two trying to take him. Goodsir was alone for the time being. He ducked out of sight, and found what cover he could.

"Sarah!" cried Chuck as he tried to race to her. Chuck was grabbed by another baddie. This guy held Chuck from behind, with a hand gun to Chuck's head in a classic hostage position.

The baddie holding Chuck called out in English, "I have your analyst. Move, and he dies."

Chuck caught the profile of the man holding him, and flashed. "You're Belakov!" he stage whispered.

"How do you…. Surrender. I will kill your analyst," announced Belakov.

Chuck was a little concerned at that, and tried to correct his captor, "I think you're supposed to say 'or'."

"I did not make mistake."

"Sarah!" came the strangled cry.

Casey was pinned down with two more guards. Sarah was pinned from behind by one guard using his rifle as a choke hold. Another guard was rushing to attack Sarah. When he was within reach, she did the _Matrix_ running up the wall thing, only she used the oncoming guard as the wall. As she reached his head, she kicked him in the head a couple of times, once on the chin as her boot was going up, then her heel on his crown on the way down, to knock him out. She was able to use the momentum of the crown kick to flip herself over the top of, and behind the guard holding her. His neck was broken before her feet hit the ground. She tried to rush to Chuck, but more guards delayed her.

' _Corporal, have you got a clean shot?'_ Casey sent over the radio

' _I have a partial. Chuck's too close for a head shot.'_

' _Take it!'_ ordered Casey.

Goodsir took aim at the pair in the center, they were moving around a bit. Traditional sniping rules called for shooting the center of the seen mass. Only in the movies did they aim for anything else. The center of the seen mass was Chuck, so that was a no-go. Vest or not. Goodsir tried for Belakov's head, but Chuck was blocking too much to even consider that.

Belakov's arm holding the hand gun was cocked out like a chicken wing. Goodsir changed his target, and shot the elbow.

It practically exploded.

Chuck was the one screaming. Belakov reacted, but made no sound. As soon as Chuck was clear, both Casey and Goodsir double tapped Belakov. Goodsir got him twice in the chest, Casey owned the two in his head.

Sarah was free of hindrance finally. She rushed to Chuck with an ugly expression. Chuck was sure she was going to rip the lungs out of his would be killer with her bare hands if he wasn't already dead. Deliberately calming herself, she checked Chuck was OK.

Casey cleared his attackers. That seemed to be the end of the battle. Chuck went back to the computer plugged into the foreign terminal. The drug/weapon lab used the standard practice of lower pressure inside to contain any leaks. Chuck sealed the lab by _increasing_ pressure inside the airlocks so the inward opening doors could not be forced. Video feed showed there were more workers and some guards inside. They weren't going anywhere.

Sarah and Goodsir cleared the rest of the levels. The stand-off at the terminal had been the last real stand of the baddies. When they got back, Casey was on his phone and, even adjusting for Casey standards, was sounding frustrated. He handed it over to Sarah saying, "This guy's Russian is worse than mine." Sarah began to talk into the phone.

Chuck gazed in wonder at her, "She makes Russian sound sexy."

"Aren't you supposed to be doing something?" growled Casey.

"I'm multi-tasking," murmured Chuck.

Casey looked angry puzzled. Goodsir whispered to Casey, "He's vertical, staring at her. And he's vaguely coherent, all at the same time. _That's_ multi-tasking."

Casey made a noise that indicated a skootch of amusement.

Goodsir then asked Casey, "What's going on?"

"Called my superiors, they've called in the locals, with some help from some special friends. They'll be here in a couple of hours."

"Trust the locals?"

"No government wants to be seen as the bad guys. Except maybe for Kim Jong-il."

Goodsir recognized the twinkle in Chuck's eyes, and cried, "No, don't," but it was too late.

Chuck began to sing, "Oh, so ronery, oh so ronery…"

Goodsir turned back to Casey, saying, "Well, you will give him a straight line."

"That's why I don't speak much, cuts off the problem."

Goodsir said "Huh," and after a moments deliberation he made a _'I'm thinking I like it'_ sort of a face.

Chuck carried on with using his laptop to scour the host system. The files he sent off were substantial, and damming. Chuck knew this was a good find. There were quite a number of leads and some big missions would come from this.

Casey and Goodsir began to gather all the surviving prisoners together on the lower level.

Just before dawn, the Spetsnaz teams arrived. They spread out, and took the factory in only a few minutes. After a little while, marked by a little bit of shouting and a lot of arm waving, they called in back-up when the size of the weapons stash was discovered. Sarah told Chuck and Goodsir that they were organizing freight trains to move it all.

Chuck spent the next few hours of the morning saving and sending data off to the CIA.


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9: A parting of the ways**

As of 28 Oct 2016, I don't own Chuck et al.

A Parting Of The Ways

By midafternoon, the team was able to eat and rest. Their relief had taken over. Casey told Goodsir that his team would depart back to the real world from here. Casey had organized a ride on the Antonov from the nearby airfield that the Spetsnaz had arrived in. They would fly to the American base the team had first landed in, They'd catch a Galaxy back to civilization, and Goodsir would drive back to his own base near Tarinkot from there.

Goodsir was given a lift back to the farm where they'd stashed the Rover by a Russian officer who spoke no English. After a few kilometres, they drove in a sort of companionable silence. Goodsir half thought to himself that the Russian captain thought that he was SAS or something. He tried to carry himself in the self assured manner that he thought the Special Air Services displayed. This mainly consisted of looking bored, and slouching in his seat.

Once the Rover was re-acquired, he followed the Russian back to the old Sov factory and loaded Team Carmichael up, and they were escorted to the airfield. The Antonov transporter was being prepped when they got there.

Goodsir drove straight into the cargo hold, where the airmen lashed it down with ratchet straps over the wheels. There was plenty of room for the Rover. Actually, there was still room for a couple of tanks and a small battalion, so the Rover looked a little lost in there. All of them fell asleep as soon as they were airborne.

After a couple of hours, they landed back at Bagram. The airmen saved Goodsir the task of backing up with a trailer by wheeling it down the ramp by hand. Goodsir reversed out, thinking that he could have done it, and at the same time, grateful he didn't have to.

Driving off the apron, they ate a meal at the same mess they used the first time they were here. Casey just stared at the master sergeant guarding the entrance until a special dispensation was found for enlisted men from other countries to be admitted to an officers mess. Goodsir felt like he'd walked into a fancy restaurant with dog shit on his boots judging by the looks he was getting from the brass already here. Casey growled out of the corner of his mouth, "Corporal Goodsir, you have every right to be here."

The group still dressed in field gear several days overdue for a trip to the laundry, not to mention the occupants of the field gear, and a similar delay in familiarity with soap moved to a free table in one corner. Chuck started to comment that he could smell something funky, when he realized the source of said funkiness. Or more spcifically, he could smell the _clean_ on everyone else.

The steaks were pretty damn good, and the beer was cold. Goodsir and Casey knew from past experience to just have the one beer this time. Goodsir would be driving soon, and team Carmichael would be wheels-up fairly soon.

After dinner, it was time. Goodsir said to Chuck, "Well, looks like you guys get to go home early."

Chuck gave his mate a sad smile. "Yeah, looks like this has given us a whole bunch of trails to chase up. So it's home, but not over."

"Well, it's mostly been fun," Goodsir said, and then smiled as Chuck waited the requisite five seconds and they both repeated, "Mostly."

"Thanks. You saved me, and you made me laugh. I'd sort of forgotten how much these guys need to learn some quotes," said Chuck.

"Hey, Casey surprised you. But you should teach her. At least teach her the basics… the _Aliens_ thing is bugging her."

"I know. It drives her batshit," Chuck replied with a grin.

"Might want to go easy on that. That kick-arse ninja girlfriend of yours could do some real damage."

They both paused, and then both sighed in a wistful manner, "Yeah….."

Goodsir sair, "And yet you race in, screaming like a school girl every time she has to fight someone."

"I know man. It's just that …"

Goodsir interrupted, "Look, I get that. These guys," indicating Casey and Sarah, "are pretty smart. They aren't going in anywhere without flank and depth. Back-up right?"

"Yeah," said Chuck, not sure of the actual words, but gathered the concept.

"Well, do me…. Do yourself a favor. I guarantee you are holding a bigger weapon than anything you can pick up and pull a trigger on. And I've seen you pull a trigger, trust me. You've got a radio, or a mobile phone. You could probably call in the 82nd Airborne if you needed to." Goodsir paused and added, "Actually, there's a scenario. If you need to get the hero's reward. Save her by using them, and maybe an armored column, too." He paused, "Seriously, it's pissing her off. Stay in the car. Might even be worth your while".

"Tanks," said Chuck, grinning lightly when he saw Goodsir had gotten the old pun.

A manly hug ensued. Two seconds, and back slapping to make sure it didn't go on for too long. Goodsir got out his notepad from his thight pocket and wrote out his e-mail address, asking, "Keep in touch, okay?" Chuck nodded.

Sarah came over, kissing Goodsir lightly on the cheek. She said "Thank you," adding a brilliant smile. His knees wobbled slightly for some reason. She continued, "He's really liked working with you," she tilted her head to indicate Chuck. "He's missed his friends. You helped immensely with that. Thanks," she nodded to emphasis her appreciation.

"No problem. Keep him safe, huh? I kinda like the fuzzball. Look, if he won't stay in the car, get a spray bottle of water. Ssst in the face," he mimed the action with his hands. "Works with dogs."

Sarah said nothing, but her eyes sparkled.

Casey simply shook hands with Goodsir, saying, "Thank you corporal."

"My pleasure, sir." Goodsir then picked up is helmet, and puttin it on, stood to attention and saluted, Australian style.

Casey responded with a normal American salute, and uttered, "Dismissed... Dizzy."

Goodsir got in the Rover, and before he started it up, he turned to the trio saying, "I'd better get back. It'll be dark soon…and they mostly come at night…"

Chuck and Goodsir shared the grin. Sarah thought for a moment, and then stood open mouthed. Chuck had, after all shown her that film, and she'd liked the fact that the weapons had looked like _real_ weapons. Casey kept quiet. If Casey smiled, then he was smiling.

With a final wave, Goodsir drove off.

"Well, let's go home." Said Casey.

-o0o-

 **A.N.** I've borrowed the spray bottle concept from  Zerectica's "Sarah's Mission." And from "The Big Bang Theory."


	11. Epilogue

**Chapter 10: Epilogue**

As of 02 Nov 2016, I don't own Chuck et al.

Sexual content warning.

Epilogue

And lo, it came to pass that Chuck stayed in the car.

The flight back to the world was as long and boring as the one coming here, that now felt like an age ago. Going back to work at the Buy More was the means of bringing the whole Afghan mission to an end with a solid thud. The customers were their usual idiot selves and Jeff and Lester had now seemed to have formed a musical duo, if one allowed a fair bit of stretching to the meaning of the word 'musical.' Hopefully, it would be an improvement on the not-so-subtle mammary cam efforts.

General Beckman didn't seem to feel that sending Chuck to a war zone and back was any big thing. As much as she was able to, the results Chuck had emailed back did seem to please her. Team Bartowski had only got involved with a handful of follow up missions related to the Afghan mission. It had been, after all, aimed at targets literally worldwide.

The first two missions, they didn't need Chuck, so he stayed home while Casey and Sarah suited up and went out. The first mission, as soon as he saw Casey back in his apartment, he called Sarah. She sounded tired, but also a little pleased that he'd called to see if she was alright. The second mission, she called him for a little more info during the operation, and she called him again after the mission. They talked all the time it took her to drive back to her hotel room.

The third mission, Chuck rode along, and when the usual, "Stay in the car, Chuck," was uttered, he did. He fidgeted a fair bit, and used his laptop to keep an eye on things, but he stayed. When they got back, both Casey and Sarah hesitated a moment and then returned to the van. Nothing was said about this aberration to the natural order of things.

Mission four went sideways about ten minutes in. When the troop of bad guys charged into the warehouse that Casey and Sarah were in, Chuck was half out of his seat at the monitoring bank in the back of the van before he made himself sit back down. He warned the pair of spies and then called for back-up. He waited twitching and fidgeting the whole time until they got there. It was close, but the cavalry made it just in time.

When Sarah saw he was still in the van, she gave him a heart stopping smile. Casey even uttered a very quiet pleased-ish sounding grunt.

-o0o-

Two weeks after calling for back-up, Sarah was over for a planned sleep over. The evening was uneventful. Ellie had made dinner, magnificent, as usual. After cleaning up, they watched the new Underworld movie, this one was about the wolves. Sarah snuggled up to Chuck on the couch, eventually falling asleep on his shoulder. When the credits rolled, Ellie and Awesome went to bed, tossing the remotes next to Chuck so he could change to regular TV without waking Sarah. Chuck realized that Sarah had woken up when they left. He knew they should move, but he was happy where he was. He suspected Sarah was too.

After a few minutes of him channel surfing in a futile attempt to find something not a reality TV show, she stirred and patted him on the thigh, saying quietly, "Come on. Any longer and Casey will start making notes. Let's go to bed."

He agreed, and got up, turning the TV off. As he put the remote on the coffee table, she held her hands out to him so he could help her up.

During the night, Chuck woke to find Sarah had adopted her regular position on his chest. He smiled a little into the dark, knowing that they both slept well this way.

When morning came, they'd separated during the night, and he woke up facing her. She was awake and had been watching him.

Again, Chuck's morning erection had escaped his boxers. He wasn't _completely_ sure, but he was pretty damn sure that Sarah's hand was close to him, Chuck could feel the warmth near himself.

She spoke with a slight morning croakiness, "I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh, that's always fun," he replied with mild concern. Usually, that mean he had to do something outside his comfort zone. Even with a real, regular girlfriend, those words usually were a red flag.

"I think you deserve a night off. We've had a huge win against Fulcrum." He nodded, wondering where this was leading. "How about some time off, from under the cover?" she asked.

"Hmm?" he puzzled.

"Look, I come over, and we're under cover, right? How about next sleep over, you come to my hotel? No surveillance. You could bring a book and read, or something. I can do some paper work. You. And me, no fake relationship, no cover. Have the night off."

Then something astounding happened, she wrapped her hand lightly around his erection. She could feel his pulse. Her hand almost felt scalded.

Chuck's eyes widened, but no reaction that would show up on tape. Only dogs with _very_ keen hearing could hear the sound that escaped his throat. After a moment, she moved her hand back to where it came from.

Sarah's mouth was suddenly dry. She tried to swallow, and continued, "We'll give our cover the night off. We can just be us. I mean, you can be just you. We'd still be on call, and I'd have to watch you….."

"That sounds good. Ellie loves having you over, but Devon's wondered why I don't stay the night with you."

"What kind of girl do think I am, Mr. Bartowski?" she asked managing to coquettishly dip a shoulder while still lying on her side.

"Amazing." He grinned back with honesty.

They got up and began the normal morning routine with his sister and near brother-in-law.

-o0o-

It was two weeks later when Chuck turned up at Sarah's hotel for the appointed sleep over.

The time since _that_ morning had been absolute agony. He was sure Casey _knew._ Every time he spoke to Sarah, either in person or over the phone, she sounded different, distant and almost disinterested. He knew he was trying to be no different, and so he knew he was over compensating.

Chuck startled easily at almost any sound. Casey _knew_ , Chuck was almost convinced of it. A couple of times in the Buy More, he'd encountered Casey and it seemed he had a murderous look on his face. Chuck sort of checked that Casey wasn't carrying a tranq gun, or worse.

For pretty much the whole two weeks, his heart was trying to escape through his throat, and his mouth was dry. When the time finally came, he was sure he was about to be captured and bunkerized. He'd brought a paperback with him as the cover. He was reading the book, _Orbital Decay,_ recommended by his Aussie friend. He was three quarters through it, and knew he would have to re-read it. For some reason, he wasn't able to focus on anything for the fast few days.

Ellie had also made sure he brought a bottle of wine, which he carried in one hand, his overnight bag in the other.

He stood at her door, sure she could hear his heart beat through the door. He tried to knock the door, but his hand moved like it was in molasses. When Sarah did let him to her room, they stood awkwardly at the door way for several heartbeats. Chuck left his backpack on the little room divider, the one he once stood at and asked her her middle name, half raising the wine bottle as a greeting.

He opened his mouth to say he'd brought wine, which even as he opened his mouth he knew was redundant since she could obviously see the bottle. When he tried to speak, he was only able to croak like that scene in _Stardust_ , where the Ricky Gervais character had been cursed by Michelle Pfeiffer's character.

Sarah stood facing him, and tried to talk, but there was no sound either. Chuck realised that she was probably as scared as he was. Sarah Walker, scared. He wondered if he could do anything.

And then she _launched_ herself at him.

-o0o-

Chuck messed it up, there was nothing soft to land on, but neither of them noticed for some time.

-o0o-

About three weeks later, Goodsir was back in the base, and went to the boozer with his laptop. He'd re-joined his unit, and was placed back into his section as if nothing had happened. They went back to same check point and protected the world from radicalised goats.

He worked through his back log of emails while playing music and sipping a thoughtful beer or three. He found Chuck's message buried about one third of the way down amongst a bunch of bumf spam. He grinned like a thief for the rest of the night.

The message had no subject matter, but it was from the John Smith account he'd been given. It contained a single line.

" _You were right. It was epic. Still is."_

-o0o-

Casey closed his laptop. His report that the asset was now spending time on the week ends with Walker was technically accurate. Directors Graham and Beckman both felt that giving the asset an environment where he didn't need to lie to his family had seen an improvement in the attitude of the asset. Initially, they'd been conserned that Agent Walker had seemed to be a little tired because of the extra duties, but things were working out. The results spoke for themselves.

Casey sipped his scotch, and held his glass out in a silent salute, muttering, "About damn time, Walker. Just don't stuff this up, the pair of you."

-o0o-

 **Author's Note, 06 Nov 2010.**

I used to be happy with my description of, "nothing soft to land on." Eloquent, I thought.

Well, a real professional author, Lexie Dunne, aka Frea O'Scanlin, aka Moonlight Pilot, wrote a magnificent bank-job fic called ' _Walker's Eleven_.'

Chapter twenty is the meat-and-potatoes. 'A study in physics and catastrophe,' is an epic understatement. Chapter twenty shows you what happens when there is, 'nothing soft to land on.'

Read it.


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